Highlander Avenged: A Scottish Time Travel Romance

by Preston, Rebecca

  “Set off. Holding a mercenary soldier captive.” Donal was clearly trying not to smile. So were Eamon and Gavin. She narrowed her eyes at them.

  “I’m a trained soldier with the US Army,” she said levelly. “I’ve trained for this, whether you know it or not. Yes, I set off with my captive. We reached Lord Weatherby’s manor and he invited us in. Then, when Matthew and his men caught up to me, they were gracious enough to hide me. The mercenaries took their man back with them, and Baldric escorted me back here. But none of that’s important.”

  “I think it’s important,” Delilah said under her breath.

  Bethany ignored her. “What’s important is what I found out. Which is that the castle is in serious danger, Laird Donal.” She looked at him, gesturing with her rapidly dying cellphone, which had been displaying a low battery warning for several hours now. “The mercenaries are a few dozen in number now, but more will be arriving soon. They intend to lay siege to the castle and do whatever it takes to drive out the witches they think are hiding in here. You need to act now — to prepare for a long siege.”

  “I see,” Donal said, nodding. “Bethany — thank you for bringing this to us. You risked your own life, which I’d advise against in future… but you may have saved us a world of hurt in doing so. I’m in your debt, as are the people of Castle MacClaran.”

  She inclined her head, not entirely sure what to say. And something was bothering her. “On a more… personal note. I may have found out something of interest to your family.”

  “Aye? To the MacClarans? What’s that?”

  She took a deep breath. “The hostage I took … I got to talking with him.” Her heart was pounding. She was acutely aware of the men staring at her… the respect she’d earned from them, the way they were looking at her like an equal. Could she tell them about what had happened with Graham — about her suspicions that she was his wife from a past life, that he was the MacClaran man whose lover had been killed, bringing her back to take her place? She bit her lip, deciding in a rush to keep that part of the story back for now. She’d tell them later, when it became relevant. If it became relevant at all, that was. Because what did it matter if she was his reincarnated wife, if he’d chosen to be with the mercenaries over being with her? Nothing at all.

  “His name was Graham. He told me his father deserted him and his mother when he was very young, but that his father was a MacClaran. He also said that his father had been killed at the hands of the MacClarans, under the influence of a witch… and that that was why he’d signed up with the mercenaries in the first place, to get his revenge.”

  The men looked shocked — Eamon and Gavin were talking to each other in low voices, and Donal was frowning, clearly working through his own family tree in his head. “I can’t think of a MacClaran man who’d desert his own children,” he said. “Did he say his father’s name?”

  But Gavin was staring at her, a look of horror on his face.

  Delilah blinked at her husband. “What’s wrong, my love?”

  “Kenneth,” he whispered, his eyes wide. “Kenneth MacClaran.”

  “He’s no true MacClaran,” Donal spat, his eyes narrowed. “He was exiled. He showed his true colors when he killed a woman in cold blood… and again, when he came back and tried to harm Delilah.”

  Pieces of this great puzzle were beginning to fall into place. Bethany glanced sideways at Delilah, who was also reeling at the weight of this revelation. “Kenneth MacClaran … he killed Morag. Tried to kill me, too. Gavin took him down. He had to.”

  “Graham seemed to think it was murder,” Bethany said, trying not to think too much about Graham’s face in the low light in the cave as they’d shared their stories with one another. “He said the witches of Clan MacClaran were responsible for his father’s murder… but he’d only heard the story from his mother, of course, and every mother wants their children to have a hero for a father, right?”

  “My children are going to be right about that,” Delilah said softly, giving Gavin a smile. “Gavin saved my life when he killed Kenneth.”

  “Aye — and left a young man fatherless and plotting revenge, it seems,” Gavin said in a low voice, a frown on his face. “Could ye not talk sense into him?”

  “I tried, but I didn’t have the full story,” Bethany said with a sigh. “He’s back with Matthew now.”

  “He’s kin,” Gavin said softly. “Illegitimate or no, he’s a MacClaran, this young Graham fellow. I wish we’d known about him before — before all of this.”

  “No sense wishing for the impossible,” Donal said briskly, rising to his feet. “If they intend to besiege us, we’ve work to do. The villagers will need to be warned… first step in a siege is laying waste to any easy target. I’ll ride down now to get preparations started. Thank you again, Bethany,” he said solemnly, turning back to her. “You’ve given us invaluable information here.”

  She nodded, watching the three men go, already deep in conversation about their next plan of action. Donal was right — she’d brought them incredibly valuable information, giving them the head-start they needed to survive the siege. She should be feeling thrilled with herself, the giddy rush of a successful mission.

  So why was it that all she could feel was sick to her stomach — like she’d done something terrible to someone she loved?

  Chapter 21

  She went into the kitchen with Delilah, where they picked over the leftovers. She ate robotically, her mind elsewhere, knowing that her body needed the fuel but not particularly enjoying the process of eating it. Delilah left her there after a while, saying she needed to check on Emily… and all of a sudden she was alone, sitting on a low bench in the kitchen and processing the last twenty-four hours of her life. Had it really only been that long? Had it really only been the night before that she’d slipped out into the gathering dusk and headed down for the mercenary camp?

  After she’d finished eating, she headed out into the foyer, feeling a little at a loose end. But it was easy enough to come up with a new plan — the quick wash she’d had at Lord Weatherby’s manor had been fine, but she was itching for a long bath, and she felt like she’d earned that moderate luxury after all the work she’d done. So she grabbed a passing servant and asked them to bring some hot water up to her room. That done, she headed up the stairs, wincing a little as she climbed. Her body was aching from the awkward places she’d slept (and, she realized with a thrill of embarrassment, from the rather vigorous lovemaking session of earlier that morning.) It would be wonderful to soak in a bath … maybe even take a nap, if there was nothing else to be done.

  But was there nothing else to be done? She peeked out of the window of her room, surprised to see a lot of activity down in the courtyard. Men were gathering, horses were being brought out of the stables… it seemed a considerable contingent of guards were headed down to the village, all resplendent in their MacClaran tartan. She remembered what Donal had said about the tendency of besieging companies to do as much damage to the surrounding areas as possible, and shivered. Was it likely that they’d harm the villagers? She’d always heard that medieval war had been brutal and savage… was this what they’d meant? Well, she thought as some servants moved through her room, carrying the hot water to the tub in the adjoining room, at least she’d been able to provide some advanced warning of the attack. Hopefully the villagers would be a little safer than they would have been in the event of a surprise attack.

  Still, she felt a little useless, just up here taking a bath while so much was going on down below… but that didn’t stop her groaning in satisfaction when she sank into the steaming water, feeling the warmth finally beginning to soak into her weary bones. She’d been cold for nearly a full day, she realized as her body began to finally warm up… wearing wet clothes, fleeing through the storm… the only time she’d actually felt properly warm was when she’d been lying with Graham… and her face burned as her memory returned to that place again, despite her best efforts.

  Go
d, why couldn’t she stop thinking about him? It was like having a missing tooth, or a sore spot in your mouth, when you just couldn’t help fidgeting with that spot with your tongue, again and again… that was the way her mind kept creeping back to the passionate encounter she’d had with Graham in the cave. The dirt rubbing against her back, the force of his hands on hers, the way he’d thrust into her again and again… she could feel her body responding to the memory, and it shocked her deeply. She’d never felt this way about a lover… she’d had perfectly adequate encounters with men, sure, but never one who’d had this profound an impact on her. What did it mean?

  And is he thinking about me? she wondered. She’d reminded him of his wife, that was something she couldn’t forget… had the passion he’d held her with, the way he’d kissed her, the way his eyes had burned into hers as they’d made love… had all of that been for his wife, for the long-lost Galena, and not for her? She bit her lip, thinking a little guiltily about the woman she’d apparently replaced. Galena… some poor young woman, swept away down a river. Was the dream she’d had actually a memory from her past self? That seemed to be how it worked for the other women… and she had to admit, it was pretty clear that she was the reincarnation of Galena, as sure as Delilah was the reincarnation of Morag. Didn’t that mean… she blushed a little at the thought… that she was destined to be with Graham? After all, all the other women had ended up with their ancestor’s lover…

  No, she told herself, banishing that thought firmly. It was a nice little daydream to indulge in while lying in the bath, sure, but the facts were clear… he hadn’t chosen her. Given the choice between a possible life with her, and the mission of revenge he was on with the witch hunters, he’d chosen them. So they were clearly not destined to be together… not if he was riding in revenge against the family who’d taken her in, the family she owed her allegiance to, the clan that was the closest thing she had, now, to a blood family.

  His family, too, she thought as the water slowly turned cold. He was a MacClaran … the other men had said as much, clearly not concerned by the bonds of wedlock. And being a MacClaran was what had doomed his poor wife. Was he really going to attack his own kin? Or was there a chance — however small — that he might still change his mind about all of this? Was it possible that Graham might change sides?

  She shook herself, climbing out of the bath and wrapping herself in a soft towel. Enough of all this, she told herself firmly. There was no sense thinking about Graham any longer. He’d chosen his side, and she’d chosen hers. Whatever happened, there was nothing she could do about it. She’d be better suited to focus on what was happening here and now — and finding out if there was anything she could do about it.

  She headed back into her room to dress, grateful for the little fire that had been lit in the grate for banishing the chill from the room. She dressed quickly, luxuriating in the feeling of fresh, clean clothes. Her gun and her phone were sitting on the table. She gave the gun a quick check to make sure it hadn’t been damaged in all the excitement — no harm done. She hadn’t expected any damage. The thing was basically fireproof… it had been through a lot worse than that morning’s little adventure.

  Her phone, on the other hand, was gone. She pressed the on button a few times, heaving a forlorn sigh when she realized it was completely spent. No more battery… that meant no more phone, probably for the rest of her life. Unless Fiona managed to figure out something clever… but she wasn’t going to pin too many of her hopes on it. That way would only lead to heartache. Still, her heart was heavy as she tucked the phone away out of sight in her drawers, murmuring a quiet thanks to it for all it had done for her. The poor little gadget had probably earned a rest, she thought with a smile.

  All that done, she was at a bit of a loss for what to do until dinner. She returned to the window, peeking out into the late afternoon and noticed that the men were all gone from the courtyard… heading down to the village, she imagined. That was good. The sooner the defensive preparations began, the better. But sitting on her bed, she felt the exhaustion of the last twenty-four hours beginning to creep up on her. A yawn took her… then another, then another. For the life of her, she couldn’t fight them off. She argued with herself for a little while… but what did she really have to do with herself, other than rest and recover? Feeling a little strange about napping in the middle of the day, she pulled back the blankets and got into bed.

  She must have been more tired than she thought, because she was fast asleep almost as soon as her head hit the pillow. But her sleep wasn’t undisturbed… she wandered through dream after dream inspired by the last day. The men she’d met loomed out of the darkness at her, laughing on the banks of the river she was being dragged down… but suddenly, she washed ashore at the mouth of the cave where she’d spent the night with Graham… he lunged out of the darkness of the cave, pulling her into his arms, which were suddenly long and clinging like strands of seaweed… then suddenly he was hurling her away, over the edge of a bridge, where she tumbled to the water below and sank like a stone beneath its surface. And all the while, she could hear high, mocking laughter, the voice eerily familiar… Cristabella, she realized with a shock. Cristabella was laughing at her, and as she struggled to the surface of the river she found herself surrounded by all the men she’d met that day — not just Matthew and Sven and Adolf, but Baldric, too, and Lord Weatherby, and even Graham and Donal and Eamon and Gavin, all of them curiously blank in the eyes. She heard Cristabella utter a command in a language she didn’t understand, and suddenly the men surrounding her transformed into wild beasts…

  And she sat bolt upright in bed, breathing hard. The sun was almost gone from the sky — she realized with a start that she’d slept all afternoon. Her body must have needed the rest… not that she felt especially rested. Still, it must have been about dinner time, and with her heart still pounding from the dream, she gathered herself and climbed out of bed. Adrenaline, she told herself uneasily as the dream lingered in her memory… it was just adrenaline and stress. But she’d experienced adrenaline and stress before… what she’d never experienced were dreams like these. So realistic… and so deeply, deeply disturbing. What did they mean?

  Maybe I ought to talk to Marianne, she thought. Marianne was a practicing witch — she’d been a phone psychic back in the future, but when she’d come to this place she’d discovered true powers. Maybe Marianne could give her a bit of insight into all of this destiny stuff… maybe she could tell her whether she and Graham were meant to be together. At the very least, she might be able to give her something to help her sleep a little better.

  But she was distracted when she reached the dining hall by Donal, who moved up beside her, still in his riding clothes. He looked tired, but alert — he invited her to sit with him and his men, and she followed, feeling oddly honored by the request.

  “How did it go today, with the villagers?” she asked once she’d settled at the table with a bowl of stew and some fresh bread rolls.

  “Good,” Donal said, attacking his own meal with evident satisfaction. “We were able to speak to the village council and explain the seriousness of the situation. They were all a little worried about the mercenary camp, too, and were glad to see we were doing something about it.”

  “What did you do? Will they be coming to stay inside the castle walls?”

  Donal nodded. “Aye, some of them. We spent the afternoon organizing an evacuation order… some of them have family in outlying areas they’ll be travelling to stay with, but those with nowhere else to go, we’ll put up here in the castle. It’s not ideal, what with a siege being likely and extra mouths to feed making that difficult, but they’re bringing all the food they can carry, and with any luck that’ll make the difference.”

  Bethany nodded, setting her jaw. “Can I do anything to help? I’m not the best rider, but I could help fetch and carry things.”

  “You’ve done more than enough,” Donal said. “You need to rest — “
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br />   “I’ve rested,” she said sharply. “Do you need more manpower or not? Please — put me to work. I don’t want to rest idle while people’s lives are in danger.”

  Donal hesitated. “There’s plenty to be done here,” he said, gesturing around the castle. “Join the work crews here, if you absolutely must.”

  She nodded, happy with that. She wasn’t great on a horse — she might be more of a liability than an asset riding up and down to and from the village in the dark, and she’d rather be somewhere that she was definitely useful. So as soon as dinner concluded, she headed into the kitchen in search of something to do.

  Mary MacClaran was there with the head woman, Margaret, the two of them presiding over the dinner cleanup.

  Bethany had only met the elegant older woman once or twice around the castle, but she’d been struck by the woman’s incredible grace and warmth. Mary was Donal’s mother, and Ian’s — the former Laird and Audrina’s husband — but she didn’t look her age at all. Bethany had been shocked to learn she was in her early seventies — it seemed that Audrina’s careful ministrations had kept the woman healthy and well into quite an advanced age for the era.

  “Good evening, Mary and Margaret,” she said brightly. “Put me to work.”

  “Bethany, it’s very good to see you back here safe and sound,” Mary said gently, reaching out to touch her arm. “We were all very worried about you. I’ve heard tell of your heroics from Donal. Did you truly infiltrate an enemy camp?”

  “I did,” she said, grinning a little at the look of wonder upon their faces. “Got some good information, too. So all of these siege preparations are my fault, I’m afraid.”

  Mary chuckled. “I’ve lived a long time, Bethany. I’ve prepared for more than a few sieges. It’s easy enough.”