by Amy Vansant
Catriona flipped around the phone for him to see the other side.
Inside the little black box Broch found a glowing picture of himself. He looked behind him to confirm that the things in the photo—the top of the sofa, the wall—were the things behind him now.
He didn’t know what to say.
“You really look baffled.” She ran a hand through her hair and tilted back her head to stare at the ceiling. “This can’t actually be possible.”
Catriona’s face twitched as though she were experiencing a thousand emotions at once. Finally her eyes flashed white and she pointed at him. “You’re a terrible person.”
Broch clenched his teeth and returned his attention to the photo. “Yer telling me this is Sean as a young man?”
She stared at him, furious for what felt like an eternity and then roared and threw her hands in the air. “Yes. And dammit—If he isn’t your father, then he’s your evil twin from another dimension.”
“Mah evil—”
She shook her head. “It’s a joke. I’m saying he must be your father. I don’t know. This is insane. I don’t want to believe it. I can’t—”
Broch fell silent. His mothers never told him the identity of his father or how the man died. Could it be that Sean was his father? That he, too, had traveled to this place?
Catriona paced. “Let’s say all this is true. Let’s say you’ve come here through time from—what year was it for you last you remember?”
“Seventeen forty-nine.”
“Wow. Okay. Seventeen forty-nine. Let’s say Sean traveled here and has been here since the eighties—”
“How come?”
“How come what?”
“How come he traveled? Did the book say?”
“It just said he thought you and your mother were dead. Why did you travel?”
“I dinnae ken. I dinnae dae it on purpose.”
“Right. Naturally. Do you ever ken anything?”
He shrugged.
“What do you remember? Did the women—your mothers—tell you anything about your family?”
“Na. They said it would be dangerous tae tell me who ah was.”
Catriona held up a finger and spoke to her phone.
“You’re talking tae my picture?” he asked. He cocked his head to listen if her voice seemed as close to his ear as her lips were to his image.
“What? No. I’m Googling the name Thorn Campbell.”
He nodded. “Sure. That makes sense. Yer Googling.”
Her voice trailed off and she stared intently at the phone. “Did you say your family was from Glenorchy?”
“Aye.”
“There’s a legend about a guy named Thorn Campbell. It says in seventeen twenty-one he had it in for Rob Roy MacGregor’s right hand man—a guy named Ryft.” She looked up. “That’s the name Thorn asked me about.”
“Aye. That picture box is telling ye all that?”
She held up the phone and he could see the front of it was now covered with words.
“Tis a book noo.” He scratched at his chin, studying it. “Can ah get one of those?”
She rolled her eyes and continued reading. A moment later she gasped.
“What’s it tellin’ ye noo?”
“Thorn burned Ryft’s wife, Isobel, and their baby to death in their home and then the two men fought—and during the battle they both disappeared in a strange fog, never to be heard from again.”
“When ah tellt Sean aboot the women wha raised me, he asked if ah had a mother named Isobel.”
“Did you?”
“No, not that ah knew, but—” In his mind’s eye Broch pictured a single word stamped into the leather of his saddle as a child. “Mah mothers gave me a saddle ah knew they dinnae have the money to buy. It had a name on it.”
“Don’t tell me—”
“Aye. Ryft.”
Catriona’s jaw fell.
“The name didn’t mean anything tae me when I heard ye tell yer story to Sean. Ah wasn’t even sure Ryft t’was a name. But noo—”
“Thorn is looking for Ryft and Sean is Ryft.”
“And maybe mah father.”
“And all three of you are from the seventeen hundreds. This is crazy. It’s impossible. But everything is connecting—”
“But why am ah here? Maybe ah’m here tae protect mah father?”
Catriona’s eyes grew wide and panicked. “We have to go. We have to find Sean. He left us the book so we’d know the truth if he didn’t come back. I’m sure of it. I know him. He’s gone after Thorn. We have to help him.”
Broch held up his palm, attempting to calm her. “Keep the heid noo.”
She was already across the room on her way to the door when she stopped and turned.
“What did you say?”
“Whit?”
“What did you just say?”
He took a moment to recall. He’d been thinking a great many things and it was difficult to remember the thought that had actually escaped his lips.
“Keep the heid?”
She pointed a finger at him and took a step forward. “Why did you say that?”
“Uh...because I wanted you to keep the heid? To calm down?”
He could see her body trembling and felt overcome with the urge to hold her to him. She was such a strong woman. It hurt him to see her so shaken.
“Catriona, lassie, whit is it?”
“Sean says that.”
“He says keep the heid?”
She nodded. “He’s been telling me that my whole life. Did you hear it from him?”
He shook his head. “Na.”
“It’s something they say in Glenorchy?”
“Aye. It’s—” He cut short, worried what he’d remembered would upset her.
“It’s what?”
He sighed. “My mothers said my father would always say it tae them. They’d call him, upset aboot one thing or another and he’d say Keep the heid, wummin! And they’d all roar and it wid make them laugh and feel better.”
Catriona looked away. “This is too much.”
“Aye. Look—” Broch took a step towards her and the wound on his side ached. He winced.
“You came with a stab wound.”
He stopped. “Aye?”
“Well, if that legend I read is true and Sean and Thorn were transported to modern day while locked in battle, maybe you were as well. Do you remember what happened?”
Broch had a flash of memory—a man in dark clothing and a pain in his side like he’d been bitten by a dragon.
He shook his head. “Na.”
She motioned to his side. “Let me see it.”
“My wound?”
“Yes. It probably needs to be re-bandaged.”
He shook his head. “Na. Ye were terrible mad at me just a few minutes ago. Might nae be a good idea tae let ye poke around mah tender flesh.”
She smiled and he thought he caught a touch of color rise to her cheeks.
“I’m sorry if I yelled. There’s nothing about this that makes sense and I don’t like being cornered. I’m worried about Sean. I—”
She paused, as if afraid to continue.
“Ye were feart ah was workin' with Thorn?”
She nodded and picked up the photo.
“This picture. It’s too impossible, but I can’t explain it. Every new piece of information supports this crazy idea and, if I’m honest with myself, you do seem out of your time. Unless you’re just an amazing actor and con man.”
He chuckled. “Ah’ll be honest with ye. Ah’ve never been good at pretendin’ ah’m anyone but who ah am. And that haesnae always been good fer me.”
A silence fell between them and she nodded towards his hip. “I should check that wound.”
“Och. Aye, then. Ah’ll trust ye.”
She approached and he moved the sheet enough to reveal the wound. He could see the bandage was stained with blood.
She knelt beside him and he held still as she pulled
away the sticky bandage. He felt the pain of it releasing from his flesh and looked away so she wouldn’t see him wince.
“Yer good at tendin’. You have a gentle touch.” It was a bit of a lie, but he did appreciate the effort.
“Thanks. It looks better. Did you rub on that antibiotic?”
“Aye. Though ah still dinnae understand whatfer.”
She chuckled. “I think it’s too late at night for me to explain bacteria to you right now.” She cocked her head. “To be honest, I’m not sure I can. That might require more Googling.”
He brushed away a lock of hair that had fallen close to her eye. As he did, she peered up at him.
“Ah'm wantin' ye tae ken—er, know—ah’m nae here tae hurt ye. I’ll help ye find Sean. If what he says in the book is true he’s someone who’s been on mah mind mah whole life. Ah cannae let him slip away from me just as ah’ve found him.”
She tried to look away and he put his hand beneath her chin to hold her gaze to his own.
“Tell me ye ken ah willnae hurt ye.”
She sighed and closed her eyes.
“I believe you.”
Chapter Eighteen
Sean retrieved his cell phone and dialed. Tommy Hopkins, a man he and Catriona often used for surveillance and other feet-on-the-ground operations, answered.
“You have eyes on Thorn?”
“He’s at his hotel with two men. I sent you the info.”
“Any other info?”
“He’s been living in Tennessee. Mid-level drug runner, OxyContin mostly. Been at it for decades.”
“Thanks. Stay on him.” Sean hung up.
Found him. The red-bearded fiend had holed up in a cheap hotel on the outskirts of town with his two henchmen. He couldn’t understand how the man had appeared after all these years, or how he had found Catriona. If Brochan hadn’t been there—
Sean took a deep breath.
Brochan. My boy. His throat tightened at the thought of reuniting with the babe he thought he’d lost so long ago. He’d found his home burned to ashes, his wife’s body blackened. There’d been no sign of his infant son, but the fire had been fierce. There was no reason to believe a child so small could have survived. Blinded by rage and pain, he’d left to exact his revenge on Thorn.
Sean reached beneath his shirt and stroked the smooth skin beneath his ribs. The last time he’d seen Thorn they’d been locked in battle. He’d heard someone call out for their da, and—his own lost newborn boy weighing heavy on his mind—he’d turned. Lost focus for a precious moment.
Thorn ran him through with his sword.
That’s when he jumped. Time travel erased old age and healed all wounds—except those caused by another Traveler.
Thorn was only a man. He hadn’t left a scar. Not on his physical body. Somehow Thorn must have been pulled forward with him, bound to him by that sword.
In seventeen twenty-one he’d had a woman he loved, a cause to fight for, a child—
And now I’m driving a car in the twenty-first century.
There was no time to spend in the past now.
He couldn’t wait for Thorn Campbell to try and snatch Catriona again. He couldn’t wait for the bastard to knock on his door. The time had come to end the feud between them once and for all. Time to revenge sweet Isobel.
If only I’d known. Thorn had been in Tennessee for decades. He’d had had time to find his bearings, learn how the modern world worked and how to use modern weapons.
I’ve lost any chance to surprise him.
Sean’s phone buzzed and he glanced at it to see he’d received a text.
911.
He reached onto the passenger seat and grabbed the phone. The text was from Luther. The phone buzzed again.
Home. 911.
Two exits from Luther’s, Sean stepped on the gas and pulled off the freeway. Coasting to a stop half a block from Luther’s home, he could see his friend and co-worker’s lights were off. He turned off his engine, slipped out of his car, and headed for the house.
A strange shadow paralleled the edge of Luther’s front door.
The door was opened.
Just a crack, but not closed tight like it should be. He crept toward the porch, gun drawn.
Easing open the door he peered into the darkness, allowing his eyes to adjust. No movement inside, but there was sound.
Breathing.
A heartbeat.
Someone stood behind the door, waiting for him to enter.
Sean slammed his shoulder into the door and heard an expelling of breath as the man behind it was crushed against the wall. The man’s hand thrust from the side of the door, his fingers wrapped around a gun. Sean grabbed his wrist and pounded it against the wall until the gun clattered to the floor.
Sensing movement behind him, Sean gave the door a last shove and whirled as he squatted, one leg out, sweeping across the ankle of his new attacker. The man yelped and flipped on his side like a diner pancake. Sean pounced, striking him hard in the throat. Gagging, the man dropped his own gun and clamped his hands on his throat, gasping for breath.
Sean stood to finish the man crawling out from behind the door.
That’s when he heard the shotgun pump.
A light in the kitchen flicked on to reveal Thorn Campbell, his shotgun leveled at Sean’s chest. He held the weapon with one hand, finger on the trigger, stock pressed against his chest. When he spoke, his jaw seemed to click in and out of place, giving his speech a strange, additional cadence.
“Hello Ryft, I see ya haven’t forgotten how to fight.”
Sean’s shoulders released. “And I see you’re as good-looking as ever.”
Thorn laughed a slow, menacing chuckle. “I saw your boy. He just arrive?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Sure ya don’t.”
The kitchen light revealed more than Thorn’s crooked face. Behind him, crawling across the linoleum floor, Luther appeared. His eyes were barely more than slits, so swollen were his features.
Sean guessed Thorn’s men had worked him over and left him for dead.
That was a mistake.
Luther was the one of the toughest men Sean had ever known, and he’d known a few.
Luther reached up and slid his phone from the kitchen table. Sean looked away to keep Thorn from spotting a flash of recognition on his face.
Sean heard the man behind him groan as he pulled himself from behind the door. The man would have a similar line of sight, and might spot Luther as he crawled back into the kitchen.
He couldn’t let that happen.
Before he could move, the man at Sean’s feet tried to sit up and Sean kicked him in the side of the head, knocking him cold. Whirling, he backhanded the man behind him with a closed fist, sending him stumbling against the wall. Sean felt safe his attacker would be unable to see any movement in the kitchen from his new vantage point—tangled in a bamboo bookshelf.
“I’ll shoot ya,” roared Thorn.
Sean faced him. “Sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”
“That’ll be enough out of you.”
Sean felt cold steel at the base of his neck. The man behind him must have worked his way free of the furniture and now jerked his arms back, securing them with a zip tie.
Thorn took a step forward. “Ya know, I didn’t know what to make of that boy when I saw him. It was like I was seeing your ghost. I froze. I did. Spitting image of you, isn’t he?”
Sean remained stone-faced and Thorn continued.
“Then it hit me I was looking at your son. Thought it might be fun to kill him in front of you. Maybe his girl, too. I wonder if she’d squeal the way your Isobel did?”
Sean felt his body spasm with rage. He lunged forward but the man behind him held his arms and kicked him in the back of the knees until he folded to them.
Thorn grinned and continued. “I’d like to kill them both. Right here in front of you. Right now. But I don’t want to be stuc
k in this godforsaken town for months huntin’ them down. Think if he knows I have his daddy he’ll come runnin’—ya think?”
Sean’s lip curled. “Look me in the eye Thorn. Look at me and know this face is the last thing you’ll ever see before I send you straight to hell.”
Thorn smirked and, looking past Sean, nodded.
Something struck Sean in the back of the head and he slipped into darkness.
Chapter Nineteen
Catriona opened her eyes and realized she’d fallen asleep on the Highlander’s shoulder. They’d sat on the sofa discussing all the possibilities of Sean’s whereabouts and the improbabilities of time travel. She remembered letting her head fall back and closing her eyes for what she thought would be a second.
There was a blanket draped over her.
She leaned forward and found Brochan’s eyes open.
“We fell asleep,” she said.
“Aye. It took all mah energy tae keep ye fae running oot into the night wi’oot a plan.”
She stood, folded the blanket and placed it on the back of the sofa. “I suppose you gave me this. Thank you.”
He shrugged.
Broch stood, adjusted his sheet-skirt and scratched his fingers across his bare chest. “Tis nearly morn.”
Catriona found her phone and dialed Sean. The phone went to voicemail and she dropped it on the sofa, disgusted with it. “I still can’t reach Sean.”
“Ah dinnae think twas his plan tae be reached.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of. We need to find Big Luther. If anyone knows something, it will be him. Sean wouldn’t plan an escape, an assault or a trip to the donut shop without him.”
“Aye. Ah need but a moment.”
Broch strode into the bedroom and she heard the shower from the en suite come to life.
“What are you doing?” The door to the bathroom was open and she could see the shape of his body through the frosted glass of the shower. His eyes peered over the top of the enclosure.
“Ah’m bathin’. See? Ah figured it oot. Not the pool, this here.”
“Now? I thought we were going?”