Swept By The Highlander: A Scottish Time Travel Romance-Highlander Forever Book 3

by Preston, Rebecca

  And why were they so angry? She hadn’t done anything — she’d only ever visited the village once, and she hadn’t spoken to a soul except Father Caleb. But every time she tried to explain that, it seemed like the villagers just got angrier. They were muttering amongst themselves now, poisonous things — she did her best not to listen, but she could hear some of the language they were using and even with her Baltimore PD training, she was shocked.

  And Brendan — why wasn’t he defending her? He was just standing there — crouching there, rather, still trying to deal with Eamon, almost deliberately avoiding her gaze. Had he not noticed this angry crowd about to turn on her like she was the town witch? Was he going to sit there calmly while they burned her at the stake, or something? She was beginning to feel insane… and it didn’t help when a third man lurched out of the crowd, his eyes mad, his voice hoarse as he cried out to her to touch him.

  “Just a kiss, that’s all I need from you, fair lady… just one would nourish me for the term of my natural life… please, you don’t understand the pain, the pain—”

  “Get away from me,” she snarled as he lunged at her. This man was older than Mick, and burlier — she could see the tell-tale signs of wasting on his body, but he was much less far gone than the other two men there. She dodged under his outreached arm, leaning on her unarmed combat training, trying as hard as she could to de-escalate the situation. When he lunged again, she dodged, using her leg to sweep his own leg out from under him. He fell to the mud, groaning — and the crowd hissed in displeasure. She stared at them, baffled — what was their problem? He’d been attacking her!

  “Pulled him down with a curse,” one of the men muttered to his companion. She stared at him, absolutely staggered.

  “I tripped him over! With my leg! You were standing right there!”

  “Don’t speak to my husband, witch,” snapped a short woman who was standing next to the man who’d accused her of cursing the fallen man, who was now groaning and clutching at the ground as he tried to get back to his feet. “And you take you evil magics off Robert, you hear? He’s the best bowman the village has got and thanks to you, he hasn’t brought anything in for weeks, his wife’s at her wits’ end —”

  “I didn’t do anything,” Elena said through gritted teeth. “None of you even know me! I’m Elena, I live at the castle, I’m not a witch, I’m… I’m a cop! I’m a guard like Brendan!”

  There was a chorus of resentful voices raised in protest of that, and she stared at Brendan, who had stirred at the sound of his name. She didn’t like the watchful way he was looking at her — like she was suddenly some kind of dangerous animal that he had to keep an eye on — but he moved to her side, at least, making her feel a little less alone in the middle of the circle of angry villagers.

  “Stay calm,” he told them all — and she frowned, realizing he wasn’t saying a word in her defense.

  Why was that? Did he sense that they weren’t going to listen to anything spoken in her favor? Or worse — did he not think that he should defend her? Was he on their side? Her heartbeat accelerated — she thought of what Una had said, about men showing their true colors eventually, about how every man — especially in this time — was the same as all the others. Was Brendan about to turn on her? Was she about to be put to death by this angry crowd of villagers? They were calling her a witch. People used to burn witches — it was one of the most famous and awful pieces of information that was known about them. This could be very, very dangerous. She was trying to scout out escape routes — could she jump onto her horse, gallop away from the crowd? She didn’t want to hurt anyone, have them trampled underfoot… and besides, if she tried to go any faster than a walk she may well fall off the horse again, and then where would she be? Back in the hands of the villagers… with an escape attempt as further evidence of her guilt.

  Una promised to protect me, she thought with a desperate rush of fondness for the woman. Would she come flying to her rescue, using whatever unknown Fae powers she had to send these villagers packing? No — she couldn’t rely on Una. Not during the daytime. The only thing she knew about the woman, more or less, was that she only came out at night… like other Unseelie Fae (if she truly was Unseelie…) she was nocturnal. And it was broad daylight. Could she stall until nightfall? It was still early morning… perhaps she could request a trial, she thought desperately. A witch trial… it wouldn’t have to be a legally binding trial, just long enough to keep her alive til sunset….

  But the villagers were turning on Brendan, too, even as he tried to calm them down. Accusations were flying — that she’d seduced him, bewitched him, that he was acting as her servant. Frustrated, he raised his voice.

  “Do I look like those men? Do I look like I’ve had my life force drained?” He thumped his breastplate, and the villagers recoiled for a moment… then another voice cried out.

  “She’s taken their life force and given it to him, to make him stronger! To fight for her!”

  “No —” Brendan said desperately, but it was too late. The villagers were roaring their anger. This was it… this was the moment that a crowd turned into a mob.

  And Elena was completely powerless to stop it.

  Chapter 46

  The crowd’s voices were getting louder, their energy turning decidedly ugly. She could see men shuffling their feet, cracking their knuckles — and worse, see women preparing themselves for a fight, too. It was the women she usually worried about in situations like these. Men tended to flinch away, at least a little bit, from striking someone like Elena — she was a pretty, feminine woman, and they usually had at least some reluctance hard-coded into their bodies. Not so much with women. All the more serious injuries of her career as a beat cop came from women. She’d made the mistake of underestimating a few women early on, and she’d never do it again.

  Her horse was whinnying uneasily, and though she’d thought of the tactical advantage of jumping onto its back, she was worried about the consequences for the horse — what if they harmed her? Or worse, what if they yanked Elena off her back, tangling her feet in the stirrups? She’d have broken her ankle when she fell that first time if her foot hadn’t flown out of the stirrup, and she couldn’t afford an injury like that if she needed to run for her life…

  “Villagers! Stay your hands!”

  A voice — not an especially strong or commanding voice, she had to observe, but a voice that the villagers seemed to respond to — suddenly sounded over the crowd. She turned to where a part of the circle was moving back and realized to her surprise and considerable relief that it was Father Caleb who had spoken. The skinny young man was standing proudly with his arms raised, clearly thinking he was striking a rather more impressive figure than he actually was. She glanced quickly at the faces of the villagers who were looking at him, trying to gauge whether he was going to be able to take control of them… there was a mixture of affection and amusement on the faces she saw, but not a great deal of respect. Well, if amusement and affection would stop her from getting attacked by an angry mob, she’d take it in a heartbeat.

  “What’s going on here?” Father Caleb demanded imperiously with another gesture of his hand. “What has caused my flock to gather?”

  “Her,” said a tall man with hard, cold eyes, jerking his head towards Elena. “This witch has enslaved Brendan and come to the village to torment the men she’s bewitched.”

  Father Caleb stared blankly at Elena, and despite the very real fear of her situation, she couldn’t help but feel a stirring of amusement at the look of complete bemusement on his face. “This woman?”

  “Aye,” the man affirmed. “Look at the way the afflicted men gaze at her.”

  “Why, this is Elena Cross, a guest of the Castle. We met a few days ago. Brendan? Is there something I should know about your guest?”

  An uneasy murmur went up among the villagers — but Elena could feel a tiny sprinkling of doubt beginning to grow among them and felt desperately grateful. Doubt woul
d stay the mob’s hand a little, at least. Maybe long enough for her to get away… and never come back here as long as she lived, she thought with a dour frown. She’d come here to help, for god’s sake! It wasn’t her fault a handful of men had gotten obsessed with her out of nowhere…

  “A case of mistaken identity, I suspect,” Brendan replied, narrowing his eyes at the crowd. “And I don’t take kindly to being accused of being bewitched. I’m Captain of the Guard and a member in good standing of the Sept of Clan Grant — and I’ve done a great deal in service of this village, I’ll add,” he scowled.

  “Why don’t we retire to the church,” Caleb said, glancing around a little nervously at the villagers. “I’ll interview these two, get to the bottom of what’s going on.”

  “Aye, see that you do,” the hard-eyed man said sharply. “In the meantime, the lads and I will prepare a pyre for the witch.”

  A roar of approval went up. Father Caleb raised his hands for silence, his eyes wide. “That won’t be necessary!” he squeaked — but Elena saw how unnerved he was by the anger in the crowd. This was clearly an uncommon happening. Why were the villagers so convinced she was their enemy? They seemed to know a lot more about what was happening with the sick men than Brendan had told her… from what she understood, it was a huge mystery. But every single person here seemed not only convinced that witchcraft was to blame — they seemed to know what the witch in question looked like. It didn’t help, of course, that the victims of the illness were lunging at her as though they recognized her…

  But to her relief, the crowd wasn’t so far gone that they didn’t let her and Brendan pass. She glanced sideways at him, hoping for some kind of reassuring look from him — even a brief touch would reassure her that he was still on her side. But his eyes were fixed resolutely ahead, and there was a stony set to his face that set worry dancing in the pit of her stomach. There was no way he believed the villagers, that she was in some way responsible for the illness… right?

  “Well, that was a close call,” Father Caleb said once they were inside the chapel. It was a quaint little space, not as cluttered as Maggie’s little cottage but clearly making a solid effort. The place was full of wood carvings of various religious figures — there must have been enough figures to compose at least a dozen nativity scenes. He followed her eyes to a particularly ornate rendering of the Wise Men and smiled.

  “Gifts from the villagers, mostly. I treasure them.”

  “Father, how long has this sentiment been popular in the village? Last I checked, there was no talk at all of witchcraft. Just a wasting illness with no clear cause.” Brendan narrowed his eyes. “I know they’re a superstitious people, but this is entirely new.”

  Father Caleb heaved a sigh. There was an evasive look on his face that was making Elena itchy. What wasn’t he telling them? “Well. I’ve been working with the community, as you know. At last count, we have twenty sick men — and that’s just the ones I’ve been able to visit to confirm. There are several men from outlying areas we haven’t seen in weeks, and concern is rising that this affliction is why. And most disturbingly, two men have disappeared from their homes completely.”

  Brendan swore under his breath. “Caleb, that’s a lot worse than I was led to believe.”

  “The villagers were distrustful,” Caleb said plaintively, spreading his hands. “You know how they are, you know how half of them distrust the Sept… they were very reluctant for me to share the full extent of the affliction with you.”

  “Why?” Brendan’s fists were clenched, and he was angrier than Elena had ever seen him. “Why hide the truth from me? I’ve been working my hardest to help — I’ve put my men at risk, good men, sending them down here to care for the sick — I’ve worked day and night to resolve this problem. And you’re telling me the community doesn’t trust me?”

  “Some of them still think the Sept consorts with witches,” Father Caleb said softly, shutting his eyes. “And I’m afraid rumors spread, a few weeks ago, about the red-headed woman who’d suddenly appeared at the castle and was living among them…”

  Elena’s eyes widened. “Me?”

  “Yes, you.” Father Caleb looked at her, sighing. “You bear a striking resemblance to the woman the sick men have been describing, I’m afraid. Down to the height and the hair color. If I didn’t know any better…” He trailed off delicately, and Elena saw his eyes shift to Brendan. Now it was her turn to get angry.

  “If you’re accusing me of something, I’d prefer you accuse me to my face,” she said, trying to keep her voice under control even as her blood boiled in her veins.

  “There, there. No need to get hysterical, now.” Father Caleb was nervous.

  She could see his hands shaking, and he kept glancing at Brendan. But he wasn’t looking at his face — he was looking at his belt, where his sword was. Her jaw dropped. Did he really think she was going to attack him? Was he so frail that he didn’t think he could fight her off? No — she realized with a rush that Brendan’s sword was made of cold iron. He was making sure that Brendan was ready to fight off this witch.

  “Brendan, you don’t agree with this man, do you? You don’t seriously suspect me of — of witchcraft, of doing whatever the hell it is these villagers think I’ve done to make those men so sick?”

  Brendan looked at her, and his eyes were colder than she’d ever seen them. “Elena, I’m afraid I don’t know what to believe.”

  She stared at him for a long moment, feeling utterly betrayed, utterly alone. She had no idea what to say. Instead, she turned and walked over to the table in the chapel, dropping herself heavily into a chair and putting her head in her hands. Father Caleb hovered anxiously nearby, not sure what to make of this new development.

  “I think it’s got to do with the time of day,” Father Caleb said anxiously. Elena knew the sound of a man who was talking to fill an uncomfortable silence, but she sure as hell wasn’t coming to his rescue. She was still trying to come to terms with what Brendan had just told her. He didn’t trust her. He thought she was some kind of … supernatural creature, or at least, he didn’t trust her word that she wasn’t. How was she supposed to conduct an investigation when her partner — someone she was meant to trust completely — was nursing a suspicion that she was responsible for the crime?

  “You see, the villagers have been aware of this problem for a while,” Father Caleb nattered on, sitting opposite her — she heard Brendan move over to take a seat at the table too, and she sat up, suddenly not wanting him to see her dejected. If she was going to be on trial here, she was damn well going to represent herself well. She focused on what Father Caleb was saying about the villagers, trying to ignore Brendan. “They’ve noticed that the victims get a little better during the day — or at the very least they don’t get worse. The dreams come at night, not in the daytime, and the wasting away seems to happen overnight… they’ve assumed sunlight is a place of safety. So to see the woman — or someone who looks like the woman,” he amended at a furious look from Elena, “roaming by day… well, they’re worried that the witch is, ah, getting stronger. That’s why they got so… excited.”

  “Excited? They were ready to burn me at the stake,” Elena snapped. “Not exactly the way I wanted to go out, if I’m honest.”

  Brendan heaved a sigh. “This is worse than I thought. Elena… I’m sorry, truly I am. But you’re not going to like what we have to do now.”

  Chapter 47

  Elena narrowed her eyes at Brendan, not liking his tone at all. This had already been a day of deeply horrible revelations, and she and Brendan needed about a five-hour chat to unpack all the ways he’d let her down so far that morning, but from the look in his eye it might be worth waiting to add a few more things to that particular agenda.

  “What, exactly, do we have to do now?” she asked, her voice as low and deadly as she could make it. He barely flinched at the venom she was spitting at him. Tough man, she thought with grudging respect. Well, she was tougher.
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  “I’m going to need to take you back to the castle.”

  “But — the investigation. We have to get out to the —”

  “Under guard,” he finished.

  Father Caleb shifted in his seat — she was peripherally aware of how awkward the priest must feel at the moment, but nothing was further from her mind.

  “Excuse me?”

  “For a start, it’s the only way to make sure the villagers let you past. If we both try to ride out as though nothing’s wrong, they’ll insist on burning you at the stake. I know these people reasonably well. They weren’t bluffing, out there. I’ve rarely seen them this angry, this out for blood. The harm to their men… it’s hitting them hard. They’re watching people they know, and love turned into strangers, wasting away from obsession…”

  She didn’t like the way he was looking at her. “You say this like I don’t understand that. Like I’m not every bit as interested in fixing it as you are. Brendan, I’ve literally been chasing this case since I was back in my own time. Do you seriously think I’m just going to ride back to the castle like nothing’s wrong—”

  “You’re going to have to, Elena. Because I can’t rule out that you’re not part of the problem.”

  Elena narrowed her eyes. Now they were getting down to it… now they were actually addressing whatever had been going on behind his suspicious eyes since the moment Eamon had lunged at her, accusing her of leading him to the village in the middle of the night. “You can’t?”

  “No.” He looked her dead in the eyes now, and she felt a prickle of real apprehension. He’d steeled himself for this conversation — that wasn’t at all the face of a man who was willing to take no for an answer. “Elena, look at it from my point of view, from the villagers’ point of view. You appeared a few weeks ago. The men started falling ill a few weeks ago. You’ve got long red hair… several of the sick men have reported dreams of a tall woman with long red hair.”