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

by Mariah Stone

  “Aye. It does. In fact, I want ye to stay in this room. The way here was hard on yer back. Ye still need to heal.”

  “What? Take your room?”

  “Aye.”

  “And”—she swallowed—“will you sleep here, too?”

  “Nae. I’ll sleep in the great hall with the clan warriors. ’Tisna a bother, dinna fash. I’m used to sleeping whenever.”

  “Where would I have slept if not here?”

  “Probably with the maids, somewhere on a mattress on the floor. Let me take a fresh tunic, and I’ll leave ye.”

  He took off the English tunic and walked shirtless to one of the chests in the room. He picked up a tunic and froze as he noticed her watching him. Without breaking the eye contact, she walked over to him. Her sweet scent brushed against him, and all his senses heightened. Her lashes trembled as their eyes locked.

  Take me into your arms, her eyes begged. Kiss me…

  Oh, he really wanted to. His body reacted before his mind could stop him. He took her into his arms. Her breasts pressed against him with each heavy breath she took.

  Her lips were right there. Just reach down and taste their lush sweetness again, lose yerself in her scent. Cup her face and the feel of her smooth skin.

  His bed was right there, too. The room had shrunk to the size of a box. How easy would it be to pick her up, take two big steps, and put her there on the mattress. To lie down next to her and undress her and worship her body.

  His father’s words came to mind. “If ye’re wrong, we’ll lose everything.”

  Giving in to his desires now would cloud his head. He’d be more likely to make a mistake and therefore endanger his mission.

  He tensed his arms to stop from running them up her shoulders and neck and burying his fingers in her hair. He wanted to take her face between his palms and kiss her so hard she would forget her own name.

  She put her hand on his chest, her palm burning his bare skin. He held his breath, unable to move. If he lifted a finger, his self-restraint would burst. The perfect seductress, she ran her hand up his chest, causing blood to flow to his cock. He cursed inwardly—such a simple gesture, and he was ready to go.

  She reached his neck, where his wound pained him. Without touching it, she went up and cupped his face. Her lips were so close, and she reached up to kiss him.

  He wanted to, so much. But if her lips touched his, he’d be lost. He gently removed her hand from his face, hating everything about rejecting her. He released her and stepped back.

  “Ye should stay away from me, lass. I am nae right for ye.”

  Amber’s eyes clouded with hurt. His heart clenching at seeing her like this, he picked up a fresh tunic and pulled it over his head.

  “You’re unbelievable,” she hissed.

  Like a coward, without looking at her, he left his bedchamber. He wouldn’t let his clan or his king down by giving in to the distraction of a beautiful woman. He’d stay focused and redeem himself, even if it meant losing Amber forever.

  Chapter 21

  “May I come in?” Amber asked.

  Amy lay on her bed, and an old woman touched her belly. The bedroom was round and rather spacious. There was a narrow window with open shutters that let light in, and flames played in the fireplace. Chests stood around the room, as well as several chairs.

  Amy looked up and beamed. “Hey! Yes, of course.”

  Amber came inside and stood by the bed. A lavender canopy was suspended from the ceiling above it, and four posts stood at each corner of the bed.

  The old woman straightened and looked at Amber, her bright eyes sparkling with curiosity. She was small and dressed in a simple brown dress and a white kerchief on her head. Her face was leathery and wrinkled.

  Amy sat up. “Amber, this is Isbeil. She’s Glenkeld Castle’s healer.”

  Isbeil leaned over the bed and picked up her basket. “Another one from yer time?” she asked casually.

  Amber was rooted to the spot, not sure she’d heard the woman correctly. Amy chuckled. “Yeah. She knows. Nothing can get past Isbeil.”

  Isbeil gave out a small, humorless chuckle. “I can practically smell the faerie magic around ye two.”

  “You know about faeries?” Amber said. “Is that who Sìneag is?”

  “Oh, aye. ’Tis the faerie that plays with destinies.” She looked at Amy, and her eyes softened. “Yer babe is fine, and ye’re, too. ’Tis a little early for the womb to tighten like so, but ye’re still closed. Dinna fash yerself.”

  “Thanks.”

  Without saying another word, Isbeil left the room. Amber watched her in fascination. The woman looked ancient and yet appeared full of energy and moved swiftly.

  “How does she know?” Amber said when the door closed behind Isbeil.

  “Your accent. But she’ll keep her mouth shut. I trust her. One thing about the Middle Ages is that people live so close, everyone’s in everyone’s business. They think I’m a weirdo, but they’re good people and have accepted me.”

  Amber smiled and shook her head. “Yes, these times are so different from what I’m used to. Makes you appreciate more what we had, the freedom, the conveniences, doesn’t it?”

  “Well, yes. But no conveniences in the world would make me abandon Craig. What we have, the happiness—no modern conveniences could ever trump that.”

  Amber chuckled politely. Lucky her. Deliriously happy with Craig, having a family with him. Jealousy stung Amber. Amber was falling for Owen, but unlike Amy, she’d never be with the man she loved—not with anyone. She just couldn’t depend on a man. Or trust him. Especially one like Owen.

  Besides, he’d said she should stay away from him. Her cheeks warmed in embarrassment as she remembered her pathetic attempt to kiss him. She shook her head to get rid of the thought. “Speaking of conveniences, do you happen to have any spare clothing? I’m still in this stinky English uniform, and we were on the road for days.”

  “Yeah, sure. I’ll give you a few of my dresses.” She stood up and threw an estimating glance at Amber. “Though I think they might be a bit too short for you. But I can ask my maid to make a dress in your size, no worries. You want to try something on?”

  Amy leaned over one of the chests, and Amber pulled the tunic over her head.

  “You have a maid?” she said.

  Amy sighed. “I know. I have a maid. Sounds so posh. But you get used to this stuff. I refused in the beginning, but with time, I realized I couldn’t weave cloth, make dresses, do the laundry—and make no mistake, you have to wash everything by hand in cold water. There’s also running the kitchen, doing the cleaning… It’s a lot of work. Besides, it’s nice to know I’m giving a good girl the opportunity for honest labor. Here.” She handed Amber a blue dress, a pale-red dress, and a couple of undertunics.

  “Thanks.”

  Amber turned around to put the dresses on a chair so she could try one on, and she heard a gasp.

  “Amber, what happened to your back?”

  She froze. “I was flogged in Stirling.”

  “Flogged? Hold on, let me have a look.” Amy came closer, and Amber felt a light touch on one of her sutures. “The wounds look good, though someone did a very rough job. But these stiches need to come out so you don’t get an infection. Do you want me to do that? I brought some medical supplies with me the second time around.”

  “Can you do take them out?”

  “Of course. Here, lie down,” she said. Amber lay on the bed, and Amy went to one of the chests and began rummaging in them.

  “You still have your modern shoes, I see? Hold on to them. They’re so much warmer than these.” She showed Amber a leather shoe with a flat sole. “I’ll ask my maid to order some in the village for you. You’ll need them sooner than you think.”

  “Thanks so much.”

  She found a metal flask, no doubt from the twenty-first century, and something that looked like a first aid kit. “I wish there’d been someone for me in the beginning to help w
ith all this stuff.”

  She came back to the bed and placed her tools on the covers. She took out sharp scissors, tweezers, cotton swabs, and adhesive bandages. Wow, the woman was a miracle.

  “So this is what you do as a wife?” Amber said. “Run the house?”

  A liquid gurgled shortly—alcohol, as far as Amber could smell. Amy rubbed a wet cotton against Amber’s wounds, and they stung. “Yes. Craig and I have our own estate, but we came here because it’s safer. He has to go with the Bruce a lot, and he’d rather keep me and the baby in the castle. We don’t have as many men as Neil and Dougal have.”

  “What did you do before—back in the States?”

  Amy took the scissors and the tweezers, and Amber felt a small tug against her back, then a pulling, stinging sensation. “I was a search and rescue officer.”

  “I was in the military. An officer, served in Afghanistan.”

  Amy put a small part of the catgut thread in a wooden bowl. “Oh, wow. A warrior woman…”

  “Not anymore.”

  There was another pull and the snap of the scissors. “If I ask why, you won’t tell me, will you?”

  Amy sighed heavily. “I don’t think you want to know.”

  She was pretty sure Amy wouldn’t want a suspected murderer anywhere near her family.

  “So if I’m not a soldier anymore—or a warrior, or whatever it’s called here—what can I do to earn my living?”

  Amy chuckled. “Good question. Most women get married and run households. But I gather that’s not what you want to do?”

  “Definitely not.”

  “Some women brew beer and sell it to taverns. They’re called alewives, and they do really well for themselves. Some own and run taverns and inns. Farming is essential, though you probably can’t do it alone. You can also work in the castle. There’s plenty to do here. Women work for the lady of the house as maids, wet nurses, and so on. Do you have any medical skills?”

  “Only basic stuff. Stopping bleeding, stabilizing broken bones, and so on. Just what combat lifesaver training entails.”

  “Right, so you can’t be a healer?”

  “What, administering herbs and leeches?” Amber chuckled. “No. Nor do I want to.”

  “And I assume you don’t want to be a nun?”

  Amber chuckled again. “I’d rather brew beer.”

  Amy’s fingers moved faster now. Click, click, click, went the scissors. “Stay with me then, until you get used to this life, until you know what you want to do.”

  Amber released a long breath, her chest aching dully. Here she was, thousands of miles and hundreds of years away from home, and yet she’d met warm, kind people who cared about her.

  Still, she’d be a fool to completely trust strangers. And she didn’t want to be an imposition. Her first instinct was to leave and make her own fortune. But Owen was right. There seemed to be more danger to a woman alone these days, especially since she looked so differently than everyone else, and the English were still out there hunting for her. She could always leave later, once she knew how she could earn her living and lead a safe life.

  “Thank you, Amy,” she said. “I really appreciate your kindness. Owen also insisted I stay until it’s safe, as his guest.”

  Amy pulled on one knot too hard, and Amber bit her lip.

  “Okay, then it’s settled,” Amy said. “You’re staying with us. I’m so glad to meet another time traveler.”

  “I’ll stay, but only if I can repay your kindness one day.”

  “Oh, please, don’t worry.” Tug. Click. Tug. Click. “So what’s going on between Owen and you, by the way?”

  Amber felt heat rush to her face. “Nothing. We were unfortunate enough to get kidnapped together, and he saved my life when I was flogged. Now he insists I’m his guest and under his protection.”

  “Under his protection? Really…”

  “I don’t want it. It’s overprotection. He even gave me his bedroom. I really appreciate the gesture, but honestly, I just want to be left alone.”

  Correction. What she wanted was him. But having him was out of the question, no matter how out of breath he made her, how alive he made her feel—like she could finally relax and be herself, to not need to justify her very existence.

  She could be who she really was with him.

  Amy cocked one eyebrow. “I don’t think being so protective is very typical of him.”

  “And what’s typical of him?”

  “I’m not sure I’ve ever seen him with the same woman twice. And yet he’s giving you his bedroom and taking you under his wing.”

  Amber shook her head, but her pulse accelerated. “He just feels responsible for me.”

  “Owen might be a joker, and he might make mistakes, but he means well. And I know if it comes down to it, he’ll defend his clan until his dying breath. He might be a playboy, but once he falls in love, I don’t think he’ll fall out of it. Mark my words, it’ll be forever.”

  Amber chewed on the inner side of her cheek. Fall in love… She remembered his lips on her, the way he called her “lass.” From his lips, the word sounded charged with pure sunshine. But he wasn’t in love with her. Of course not. Maybe a little infatuated, but nothing more.

  And yet a tiny part of her heart wished he was in love with her. He was a wonderful man, the best man she’d ever met in her life. He wasn’t perfect—and that was exactly why she loved him.

  Loved him?

  No, she didn’t love him. How could she after such a short time together? Maybe she was infatuated with him. She definitely was very attracted to him. How could she not be? He was absolutely gorgeous. Simply being in the same room with him brought her a deep sense of peace, as though she’d finally found a part of her soul she’d lost a long time ago. As though finally, the hard journey was over, and she arrived home.

  The only thing was how could she trust that feeling?

  Chapter 22

  Three days later…

  * * *

  Owen slammed the door to the stables shut behind him. The warm scent of horses, hay, and manure enveloped him, taking him away from the heated discussion he’d just had with his father. It seemed everything Owen did aggravated Dougal.

  Owen had suggested he could train the young warriors, and surprisingly his father had allowed that. Craig and Domhnall had watched as he taught two dozen men in the courtyard, showing them the movements he’d used in Stirling for fighting in close proximity. Some of the men were surprised, they’d never seen him take any kind of initiative.

  While the men were taking a brief rest, Owen had asked his father if he could teach the men on a regular basis. Dougal had answered that was Craig and Domhnall’s task. He didn’t trust that Owen would stick to it. His refusal and distrust were like a hard slap across Owen’s face.

  His first instinct was to rebel and to flee, just like he had so many times before, but his new, responsible self protested. He would stay and prove everyone wrong. Show that he’d changed. That he could take responsibility and be trusted.

  His second instinct was to find Amber and kiss her. Talk to her. Make love to her. Let her distract him.

  But that would be a mistake. He’d been so good during the past three days, avoiding her even though it felt like he were pulling his own teeth.

  He marched towards a stall to take a horse and ride north to a little cove on the loch where he always escaped when he felt like he did now—like an outsider in his own clan.

  When his eyes had adjusted to the semidarkness of the stables, he realized he wasn’t alone. Amber stood by a horse one of the grooms was saddling for her.

  “Hi,” she said.

  Owen’s stomach clenched at the beautiful sight of her. He’d seen her walking here and there, with Amy for the most part. Everything brightened and gained color when he saw her. He longed to come over to her and just stand near her, to bath in her presence like in sunlight.

  There was nowhere to run now.

  “Lass,”
he said and nodded. He walked to another horse and began saddling it.

  Stop thinking of her.

  She came to stand by his horse. “Going somewhere?” she asked.

  His jaw clenched. “Aye,” he said without looking at her. He put the saddle on the horse’s back and began fastening it. “Ye?”

  “Yeah. I’m tired of sitting inside and doing nothing. I just want to go for a ride.”

  He stopped. “Alone?”

  “Yeah.”

  His nostrils flared. “Lass, we talked about this. Ye shouldna go out alone. ’Tis too dangerous.”

  “I’ll be fine. Not that you’d want to go with me.” She turned to walk away and then threw a glare over her shoulder. “You’ve been behaving like a dick ever since we got here.”

  The groom snorted, and Owen suppressed a growl. He knew his distance was hurting her, but he didn’t want to argue in front of others.

  She wasn’t leaving him a choice now. “Ye’re nae going anywhere, lass.”

  She snorted. “You have no right to command me, pal.”

  What was happening to him? He was never this bossy with women. That was because he’d never cared about anyone like he did about her. “I do when ’tis in yer best interest.”

  “My interests are none of your concern.”

  He walked out of the stall and stared at her. “If ye insist on going alone, I’ll take ye over my shoulder and lock ye up. Ye can either come with me or stay here. Yer choice.”

  She crossed her arms on her chest. “Go with you? I thought you’re avoiding me like a plague.”

  Owen presses his lips tightly. “I was busy.”

  She raised one eyebrow. “Right. Busy running in another direction when you see me.”

  “Are ye coming or nae?”

  “Only if you promise not to behave like a jerk.”

  “A what?”

  “I believe the lass means an arse,” the groom said. “Yer horse is ready, my lady.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Please wait with the horse outside while the lady and I talk,” Owen said as he glared at her. Once the groom left, he sighed. “Fine, I wilna behave like a jerk.”