Kaden: A Clean Time Travel Highland Romance (Highland Passages Book 1)

by Annis Reid

  Kaden listened, straining his ears, for the sound of thunder. It rumbled over the land, echoing, growing louder all the time. He raised an arm, pointing to the north. “They come,” he called out, and within moments, they became visible as they emerged from the forest below. Barely larger than ants were they, but not for long as they moved swiftly, with purpose.

  Kirk rode along the line, rousing the men and encouraging them. “They wish to take what belongs to us! They want to take your land, your women, your lives! Now is the time when we stop them once and for all!”

  They cheered, raising their swords high. Kaden joined them, beating his fist against his shield.

  Before turning his head to look back at her.

  She sat astride—Kirk had granted her a mount for the occasion—looking over the men before her. She fought to keep emotion from her face, he knew, but it was plain in her eyes. She was frightened beyond measure.

  Their eyes locked, leaving him more certain than ever that he would do anything in his power to win the day for her. To free her. Once she’d proven her worth—according to Kirk and anyone who believed her to be a witch—she would be free to go.

  While the notion of her leaving was akin to what he imagined would be the feeling of his heart tearing from his chest, he knew it had to be done. She was not meant for his time. Life would never be easy for a woman thought to be a witch.

  He knew that all too well.

  “Aye!” Kirk called out, going to her. “Have ye prepared everything? Are they ready?”

  She nodded, eyes wide. Her skin was grey, her mouth set in a thin line. She was either fighting back a scream or struggling not to get sick all over herself.

  Kirk either did not notice or did not care. “Verra well,” he called out, confident, his head held high. “We canna be defeated!”

  Another cheer, louder than before, while Clan Fraser advanced. Their numbers were not much, and they’d been on the march for days. This boded well. They would be tired, perhaps disheartened when they saw what they were up against.

  Kaden stared across the field, his heart pounding harder all the time, his blood heating until his brain caught fire. He would kill for her, no doubt. He’d kill every last one of them if it meant saving her.

  Even if saving her meant losing her. But she’d never been his.

  “Ready yourselves!” Kirk bellowed. “And shed their blood for Clan MacGregor!”

  Horses disturbed the ground, sensing the excitement of the moment and wishing to be on the move. Sweat rolled down his back before he’d even taken a step forward. As ever, he did not know whether it was fear or utter certainty which made his heart pound so. Whether he dreaded what was to come or welcomed it, knowing he would emerge victorious.

  At his signal, they took off down the slope, all of them roaring at the top of their lungs. Men in search of blood, in search of vengeance. Wishing to protect their loved ones, their land, their clan. Their honor.

  And in the madness, he could lose himself. He could forget what this meant, forget how the woman who’d captured his heart would either die or leave him forever once the battle was fought. He could simply fight, and pour all of the questions and uncertainty out onto the first man foolish enough to face him.

  This would be it.

  15

  Anna’s stomach churned. What were they thinking? Just running into the field like that, screaming like they had all lost their minds?

  Then again, maybe there was a point to that, because the sound of so many voices raised in bloodcurdling screams and roars definitely sent a chill down her spine and made her feel sicker than she had before.

  Kirk was with them, on foot, running and waving his sword and screaming something about Clan MacGregor. He loved his clan, that much she could tell.

  Maybe he would die for it today. That thought didn’t exactly upset her.

  Kaden was impossible to miss, taller than the rest of them, heading into battle, just the way they did. She couldn’t watch, but she had to. She had to know he was okay.

  Clan Fraser ran straight ahead, too, and the fact that these men were about to clash on the same field she had been minutes from performing on wasn’t lost on her. The sense of the present and the future—or was it the present and the past?—colliding as the two clans collided was almost enough to knock her out of the saddle.

  She winced, teeth clenched, as the clans crashed into each other. Sunlight glinted off of steel as swords swung, the sound of metal hitting metal loud enough even from where they were to make her flinch every time she heard it.

  Which meant she spent the entire time flinching.

  Kaden swung his sword in a sideways arc, the man in front of him falling with a scream she couldn’t hear but could see, could feel. His face contorted in agony and blood spurted from the wound. Tears filled her eyes.

  Sure, it was either him or Kaden, but that was still a person who had lived and breathed just a second ago.

  He turned to meet another man who ran at him with sword raised. Their weapons clashed, then again as they both tried to strike the other. She couldn’t breathe. This would kill her. After almost two weeks of surviving unimaginable filth and degradation, this was what would bring her down. Watching men fight to the death.

  Kaden brought the second man down, then screamed a single word. “Shields!”

  It was like magic. The men wearing the tartan of Clan MacGregor crouched as one, holding their shields over their heads. At the same time, where she waited, two dozen archers fired their bolts at once.

  At the unknowing Fraser men, many of whom dropped as the arrows struck their chests, their backs. One man screamed when a bolt pierced his neck, but blood poured from his mouth an instant later, and all he could do was gurgle as he hit the ground.

  She gagged. The stench of blood reached her from all the way across the field, blood mixed with sweat and horse excrement. Battle was a filthy, ugly thing.

  But Kaden still stood, and clashed swords again and again with more and more men, all of them determined to take him down. He was like a machine out there, his face now streaked with blood and dirt, cutting his way through the Fraser line.

  They were winning. They were winning! It was obvious. Way more of the men on the MacGregor side were still standing, still fighting. Enough that two of them at a time could take on a single Fraser man. Kirk was still out there, shouting at the men, bellowing orders, but it seemed less and less necessary. They had won the day.

  When it was clear to them that they had, with the few remaining Fraser men surrendering, Kirk MacGregor raised his sword and tipped his head back, screaming up at the sky. “MacGregor!”

  The rest of the men followed him, screaming their name until she was sure everyone in the village could hear it and know their men had won.

  Tears filled her eyes because he was out there. Kaden, raising his sword high and roaring with all his might. Bloodied and caked in filth, but alive.

  She unclenched her hands then, wincing when she saw how her nails had broken the skin on her palms.

  * * *

  The entire village couldn’t possibly fit in the great hall of Kirk’s house, but they sure seemed to have tried it anyway.

  Anna didn’t know what was worse. The smoke from a dozen braziers, filling the room until she could barely breathe? The overwhelming claustrophobia as people pressed in on her from all sides?

  At least the men had bathed after the battle. Thank God for small favors, she thought, though even that smell would’ve been easier to handle than the smoke that made her eyes water.

  The men were feeling pretty full of themselves. She guessed that was to be expected, and they deserved it. They had won handily, taking the few living Fraser men captive. Kirk had said something about using them as a way of making peace with Malcolm Fraser.

  “He’ll agree to never set foot near MacGregor land again if he wants his men left alive,” he’d sneered as the prisoners were led past him. They were in the village jail now, pro
bably being taunted and spit upon by the few villagers who’d passed on the opportunity to party.

  She felt sorry for them, because she knew what it meant to be held prisoner. To be at the mercy of strangers. They had probably lost friends, maybe even family members. There was no chance to mourn them while being held in enemy territory.

  Why did men fight, anyway? It all seemed pointless in the end, even now that she’d watched a bloody battle with her own eyes.

  Kirk turned to her, seated on his right. A position of honor, nobody had to explain that to her. She figured it out on her own. He was easily more excited than any of the men present. And drunker. Mead sloshed from his cup. “Was that yer first battle?” he slurred.

  She nodded. Anything she would’ve said would be lost over the roar of a hundred drunken, happy men. Their women, too, who celebrated right along with them.

  Kirk noticed the way she glanced around, taking in the debauchery. His laughter was nasty, knowing. “Mark my words. We shall have a great many births months from today!” Everyone within earshot laughed and whistled and cheered.

  She only blushed, looking down. Would the humiliation ever end?

  Evidently not, since Kirk’s hand brushed her leg beneath the table. “Och, ‘tis a shame ye are nothin’ but a witch and I would likely lose my member if I touched ye with it. Ye are a bonny sort, at that. And ye saved my clan today, no doubt about it.”

  She wanted to crawl into a hole and die, but settled for moving away from him. If his so-called member didn’t fall off when it touched her, she would’ve cut it off. Either way, he would lose it. For once, she was glad he thought she was a witch.

  Her eyes darted over the room again, this time in desperation. Where was he? He was the reason they won, not she. He was the guy who trained the fighters. He was the one who came up with the idea to shield themselves all at once so the archers could take out the enemy.

  He wouldn’t stay away. Would he? It would look bad if he didn’t make an appearance at the celebration feast.

  Unless he was in worse shape than she thought he was. Of course, there was no way for them to be together after the battle. Even if Kirk hadn’t done everything in his power to keep them away from each other, it still would’ve been difficult with Kaden checking on the men and generally exhausted.

  And knowing him the way she did, she had the feeling he’d need to be alone for a little bit after killing so many of the Frasers. Sure, they would’ve killed him if he didn’t do it first, but that didn’t make it easier to take a life. She understood him well enough to know it must’ve hit him pretty hard to know those men wouldn’t be going home ever again.

  But he hadn’t been wounded, had he? It had been impossible to tell if the blood that soaked into his hair and clothes was his or somebody else’s.

  She blinked hard, eyes burning, searching for him.

  When she found him, his head standing out over the others, the relief that washed over her and left her at ease was almost as strong as what she’d felt when she knew he survived the battle. Even though they couldn’t talk there and probably shouldn’t even look at each other, just knowing he was in the hall meant everything.

  And not just to her, either. Blair’s golden head came halfway up his bicep, and her smile was brilliant when she greeted him. She even took him by the hand, tugging, like she wanted to lead him to the table where she sat with her family.

  The smile he offered as he allowed himself to be dragged over to the long table set Anna’s teeth on edge. It was like a full-grown horse sitting on her chest. She couldn’t breathe. How could he smile at her like that? At her!

  If this were modern times and she thought she could get away with it, she would’ve crossed the room and pulled all that pretty, golden hair out of Little Miss Thing’s head.

  But this wasn’t modern day. And she had no intention of staying here.

  And he wasn’t hers. He never had been. He belonged here, with his clan. Maybe Blair was the girl he married. Maybe she gave him babies. Maybe they had lived a happy life together.

  Maybe this was all unfolding the way it was supposed to. Who knew how she would screw up the future if she got in the way of them now? That was something she had only just started asking herself, ever since the battle ended.

  What if Clan MacGregor wasn’t supposed to win that battle? What if something new had happened because of her? Maybe the men fought more fiercely because they thought they had a witch protecting them.

  What if some of them were supposed to die in that battle, but they didn’t? How would that change the world she had left? What would be different when she got back?

  It was better to leave things as they were now, better for everybody.

  Even if she wanted to murder that smiling, simpering, eyelash-batting girl in cold blood. For the first time since she’d arrived in this time, Anna took a gulp of mead.

  And wanted to spit it out because the stuff was disgusting. But it did send a nice warmth running through her and blunted the edges of her jealousy at least a little. That was better than nothing.

  “I have grand plans for us,” Kirk confided, leaning too close. She wondered when he’d suddenly stopped being afraid of her. Probably when the clan survived the battle, and he guessed that meant she was on his side.

  Not that she was just trying to save her hide.

  “Do you?” she asked, bemused and a little sick. He thought they were a team now. Like they would go on madcap capers together. The Highlander and the witch. Real sitcom potential.

  He nodded slowly, eyes gleaming. “Aye, lassie. Now that I have seen what ye are capable of, there is nothing stopping Clan MacGregor from taking its proper place.”

  “What does that mean?” she managed to ask over the dread tightening her throat.

  “It means more of what ye did today, lassie. Much more.” His brows lifted. “They shall speak of us a hundred years from now, I promise ye.”

  That was what she was afraid of.

  “I’m tired,” she announced, probably more abruptly than she should have. “I think I’ll go to sleep now. It’s been a long day. Lots of… witch stuff.”

  He was too drunk to argue, leaning back in that huge chair of his. “Aye, so be it. One of the men will show ye to yer chambers.”

  “My what?”

  “Chambers,” he repeated, waving a hand. “Not much, mind ye, but better than a stall among the horses I would imagine. I wish to have ye nearer, that I might call upon ye when I am in need of ye.”

  “Why would you need me?” This was just getting worse all the time.

  He shrugged. “I canna say as yet.” Then, his eyes hardened. “Do ye mean to refuse my generosity?”

  Several of the men closest to them stopped talking. She had the feeling people didn’t refuse the chieftain’s generosity unless they didn’t feel like being alive anymore.

  It might mean a bed. That would be a nice change of pace.

  “No, I don’t refuse,” she murmured. “Thank you. I appreciate your generosity.”

  He loosened up again. He seemed like the type of guy who always had to make everybody aware of his awesomeness, and if they didn’t appreciate him, he threw a fit like a spoiled brat.

  “Och, ‘tis what ye deserve for what ye have done for us. And there is much more to come, ye might count on it.”

  Oh, she was sure there was more to come, all right. She just didn’t think she’d like any of it very much.

  One of Kirk’s guards led her out of the hall. They passed Kaden and Blair, who she was careful not to look at since she might need to scratch the chick’s eyes out, and down a passage to a small, wooden door.

  “This is for ye,” he grunted, swaying a little on his feet. He’d been drowning himself in mead, obviously. Was it possible to get drunk just from smelling somebody’s breath?

  “Thanks,” she murmured, grabbing the leather latch and throwing the door open. Anything so she could be alone again, and without shackles, which thrilled her
beyond belief. She was starting to understand how enough time spent as a prisoner would break a person down.

  The room was pretty much a cell. One slim window to let the air in, a bunch of blankets on the floor, a candle. A chamber pot, which was at least a step up from a bucket. Not exactly the Ritz, but it was still better than sleeping with horses. And she had a blanket now.

  Life was getting downright fancy.

  “I shall be outside the door all night,” the guard promised before pulling the door closed. “So dinna try any of yer tricks on me. The MacGregor will have yer head if ye do.”

  She had no doubt of that.

  16

  He had offended her, and he knew it. What a struggle it had been not to show his dismay when she passed without so much as a glance in his direction.

  That was how it had to be, naturally. She could show no interest in him, just as he could show none in her. There were eyes watching, always.

  Easier to avoid interest altogether than to dream up excuses after the fact.

  “Ye were so brave today, I hear,” Blair beamed. “Ye were the hero of the day.”

  He forced himself to listen to what the lass shouted over so many other voices. “Hero?” he repeated, shaking his head. “Nay, lassie, and dinna allow anyone to call me that in your presence.”

  Her smile slipped. “Why?”

  “I am not a hero,” he explained, trying as he might, to be kind and gentle with the innocent thing. “I did just what the other men did today. They were as brave as I. Perhaps more so, for they had families here who they protected. I protected only myself and my family name.”

  Her smile slipped again. That had been the wrong thing to say; at least, from the way she saw it. Perhaps she’d imagined him describing the way he’d thought of her. How he’d fought for her and longed for nothing more than to be with her once the fighting was done.

  He could not say it, for there was another woman he’d longed for. Fought for. Feared for.

  And even once Clan Fraser had been defeated, there had been another battle to wage. A battle against himself, for he’d wanted nothing in the world so much as the feeling of her in his arms, his mouth on hers. Plundering her, taking her. A man’s blood did not cool simply because the fighting was finished.