Raising Hell in the Highlands: A Time Travel Romance (A Timeless Love Book 2)

by Abbie Zanders

  “And what of Aislinn? Do ye think te just leave her in the village like an unwanted stray?”

  “Malcolm and the others will see that she has all she needs. Simon says he has called in a few favors from a family that has agreed te take her in without asking too many questions. Now,” he said, standing up and placing his hand on Lachlan’s shoulder, “ye best go get yerself cleaned up before yer bride arrives.”

  Chapter 10

  Aislinn heard the words, but it was taking a while for the reality to sink in.

  The handsome older man she had been introduced to earlier as they lunched in the cozy little tavern was Sir Galen Anderson, the betrothed of Isobeille McKenna. Despite her repeated assertions that she was categorically not the missing woman, the Brodies had chosen to go ahead and set up this meeting behind her back anyway. She could not tell if they were relieved or disappointed when Galen agreed that while she did bear a striking physical resemblance, she was not ‘his Isobeille’.

  That was strike one.

  Then, when she asked that they take her back to Dubhain, they told her that she would not be returning. Instead, she was being sent to stay with a family several days’ ride away. A family who had generously offered to take her in under the guise of a distant cousin who had been in a terrible accident and had suffered the loss of her memory. She’d been moved around the system often enough as a kid to know when she was being ditched, no matter how pretty a spin they put on it.

  That was strike two.

  And, when she demanded to know why she was being sent away, they told her that Lachlan was betrothed to the daughter of a wealthy landowner. The bride-to-be and her family were arriving at the keep that very day for the impending wedding, which they had been planning for nearly two years and would take place in one week’s time.

  Strike three.

  The death blow.

  Game. Over.

  Surrounding her in the small room above the tavern that they had secured for her, they watched her closely as if waiting for her to explode. She didn’t. She remained calm and still. After sitting in silence for several minutes, Aislinn stood and thanked them for their honesty, then asked them to leave so she might have a few private moments to process all that they had told her.

  She wished them a goodnight, making those who would not be escorting her to her new home promise to say goodbye before they rode back to Dubhain the next day. Then she closed the door quietly behind them. Only after several minutes did Aislinn step behind the privacy screen and empty the contents of her stomach into the chamber pot.

  “She took that a little too well, dinnae she?” observed Malcolm.

  “Aye, that she did,” nodded Bowen wearily, rubbing at the spot in his chest where his ribs came together. “Does anyone else feel as though he has been pierced through the heart?” A few murmured agreement.

  “I fear she will try te do something ill-advised,” said Conall. “Mayhap we should take shifts outside her door.”

  They all agreed that was a good idea, and devised a watch schedule.

  * * *

  For the first time in a very long time, Aislinn was terrified. What had begun as a wonderful dream was now turning into a nightmare. She was stuck in a strange dream in a strange land, and she had absolutely no idea what to do. And, real or not, the man she loved – yes, loved - the first man she had given her heart to, had sent her away so that she wouldn’t be anywhere near when his wife-to-be arrived.

  Some part of her – the reality-based, logical part that seemed curiously absent the last week or so - understood. It happened all the time. Not to her, of course – until now she had been way too smart for that sort of thing, but she’d seen it happen enough to others to know.

  She’d been a novelty. Something different, something fun for him to play with. But not for keeps. She could not fool herself into thinking she was a laird’s wife. She was his personal whore, a final fling. And she, dumb shit that she was, had allowed herself to fall in love. It was beyond stupid.

  He hadn’t even had the balls to tell her himself. No, the bastard had smiled and waved as he had his brothers cart her away in the hopes that Sir Galen would claim her, with the contingency plan of shipping her off to the sticks if that little plan fell through. The bottom line: Aislinn had worn out her welcome.

  At least the brothers had been honest with her, explaining things as gently as possible. Not an easy thing to do when you’re ripping someone’s heart out. And before they broke the bad news, they had taken her shopping, buying her proper dresses and baubles and showing her around, pointing out things of interest and telling her funny stories. They had tried to soften the blow.

  She could almost feel bad for them. Almost. But then she thought of the pity she’d seen in their eyes and her fear turned to anger. She was not a woman to be pitied. She’d had enough of that over her life. Pity didn’t fill your belly or heal your bruises.

  Unbidden, there was no stopping the echoing whispers inside her head.

  “Poor thing, her whole family’s gone.”

  “Look at the tiny child. Have you ever seen so many bruises?”

  “I’m sorry, Aislinn. You leave me no choice. If you insist on misbehaving...”

  “They’re all dead, the whole unit. How’s she going to live with that if she pulls through?”

  “’Tis for the best, lass.”

  It was the last one, the most recent, that resounded the loudest. Aislinn covered her ears as if she could stop the voices. Forcing herself to focus, she locked them all away one by one.

  “It is a smart match. ’Tis for the best, lass.”

  They’d taken great pains to explain to her how Dubhain and its people would benefit from the marriage, how it would elevate the Brodie clan in terms of respect and power. How Lachlan had worked on the union for the past two years. His bride had land, a dowry. Came from a good and influential family. It was a smart marriage, at least from a business perspective.

  And Lachlan did care for his people; that was apparent in everything he did. It gave her some small comfort to think that maybe, way deep down, he would miss her a little bit, too. That he was the type of man who would sacrifice his own wants and needs for those he cared about, those to whom he felt a responsibility. Lachlan had been their laird, their overseer, their protector for twenty years, and she’d known him for what – a week? It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out which side the scales tipped to there.

  Sucked ass for her, though.

  “She has been raised to be a laird’s wife. ’Tis for the best, lass.”

  Just when she was starting to feel a little less murderous, that lovely nugget had to re-surface.

  Lachlan was a man in a position of power. He deserved a proper bride, one who would dress and act the part because she had been born to it. One who could play the perfect hostess. One who would not embarrass him by something she said or did every time she turned around.

  Aislinn could almost picture his bride. She’d be quiet, demure. She’d wear beautiful gowns without complaint and keep her eyes downcast, speaking only when spoken to. Her skin would be soft and pale, her hands delicate and uncalloused. She would hold a needle and thread in her hand, not blades and guns, and she would expect her husband to see to her every need.

  Quite simply, she was everything Aislinn was not. Could never be.

  “’Tis a quiet place where yer mind may yet heal. ’Tis for the best, lass.”

  That hurt almost as much as everything else. The fact that these men of whom she’d become so fond so quickly still thought there was something wrong with her. That all this time, they had merely been humoring her until they could carry out their plans to get rid of her.

  It was more than she could take.

  She didn’t want to be in this dream anymore.

  It was time to wake up.

  * * *

  Lachlan sank heavily into his bed, the same bed in which he had awoken so wonderfully this morning with Aislinn warm and soli
d against him. With little more than a simple caress along her inner thigh, an unspoken request, she had welcomed him willingly, filling his heart even as he filled her body. To think that it was the last time he would know such joy...

  To have a day begin with such promise and end with such despair was cruel, he decided.

  He lifted the eiderdown pillow and inhaled, taking what little remained of Aislinn into him. No, that wasn’t really true. Aislinn was already there. In only a few days, she had managed to burrow deep inside him, soaked into his heart and his soul, and no matter what he was forced to do now and in the coming days, she would always be there.

  Elyse and her family had arrived as expected. She was every bit as lovely as she had been the last time Lachlan had seen her, but it was a cold kind of beauty; one that was fashioned by a skillful hand and funded by her affluent father’s coin. As lovely as she was, she held none of Aislinn’s fire and passion.

  Elyse was a vain woman, Lachlan realized. Even travelling, she wore an exquisite gown crafted from the finest fabrics. Her neck and wrists had been adorned with gems and finely-worked precious metals.

  “I wonder how many hungry mouths she could feed if she swallowed some of that vanity and sold one of those necklaces.” Aislinn’s words came to mind unbidden, the ones she spoke to Lachlan privately when she had seen a similarly dressed laird’s wife.

  The laird, whose land bordered Dubhain on the east, had come to inform Lachlan that his men had managed to capture several of the McCraes who had thought to take refuge in his land. The man himself was a decent enough sort, had been a friend and ally of the Brodies for many years, but his wife was a nasty piece of work. Aislinn’s words came after Lachlan told her that several of the man’s bastards now apprenticed at Dubhain, turned out by the laird’s wife who was as jealous as they came.

  Elyse was not just vain, but spoiled as well. After only a few moments of requisite pleasantries, Elyse had informed them all that she would be retiring, exhausted by the long journey. Even though she had done little more than lounge in the back of the comfortable carriage, he thought. Then she proceeded to provide him with a very long list of the things she would be requiring. He’d had to dispatch no less than half a dozen servants to see to her needs, let alone the rest of her entourage.

  Aislinn never made such demands. The woman washed her own clothing in the bath water; made her own fire in the hearth; emptied her own chamber pot. She was averse to asking for anything, really, preferring to see to her own needs. When Lachlan spoke with her about it, she’d said, “After spending a majority of my life serving others, I’ll be damned if I’ll make anyone serve me.” When he responded that that was their job, she’d said, “Believe me, they are already earning every dime.” He wasn’t sure what a dime was, but she’d made her point.

  It wasn’t just herself she took care of, either. Aislinn was forever looking after the lads like a right mother hen, spending time with them, making sure they had enough to eat and clothes to wear. She told them outrageous stories of faraway lands and mind-boggling gadgets; in return, they were teaching her to speak his native Gaelic.

  They had taken to her, too. He wondered what they would think when they realized she wasn’t coming back; Lachlan couldn’t imagine Elyse filling that hole. Hell. He couldn’t even imagine Elyse with their own children. But Aislinn... Aislinn he had no trouble picturing growing round with his young, or holding them in her arms, suckling them, protecting them with her very life like a fierce mama bear...

  His bedchamber suddenly felt very cold and empty, though everything was in perfect order. A fire blazed in the hearth, but he didn’t feel its heat. A small repast sat, untouched, on the scarred table, along with a tankard of ale.

  Lachlan had no appetite, but he took the ale. As he tipped the tankard and let it fill his belly, he wondered if this is how the rest of his life was going to be. Pretty to look at from the outside, but bereft of warmth.

  As he walked to the window to gaze out upon the now-silent courtyard below, Lachlan’s eyes came to rest upon the small black shape tucked in the far corner of the room. He immediately recognized it as Aislinn’s pack, for there was nothing else like it. It seemed strange that it should be here when she was not.

  Of course she wouldn’t have taken it with her, he thought bitterly. She had trusted them. She had thought she’d be returning.

  Feeling as though his body had been hollowed out and refilled with stone, Lachlan found himself crossing the room and picking it up. Material things meant so very little to Aislinn, but she would want this. This small satchel held all of her most prized possessions. He would talk to Simon upon his return, ask that the pack be sent to Aislinn, wherever that was. Gavin had refused to tell him, and that was probably a good thing. If he knew, no doubt he would already be halfway there, needing to see her just one more time.

  And what would he tell her? I’m sorry?

  He grunted into the silence. Sorry didn’t begin to cover it. But he was a laird, goddamnit. He needed to put the welfare of his people above his own selfish desires. This arrangement had been two years in the making, crafted to achieve maximum benefit for those who lived and worked in Dubhain. Marrying Elyse would extend their boundaries, bloat their coffers, and ensure that their trenchers remained full for many years to come.

  But they weren’t so bad off, were they? His keep might not be the wealthiest, but his people did not go hungry, nor were the sick and infirmed neglected. And they were a happy lot by nature, the strength of their bonds far more than that forged on coin or fear. No, Dubhain had grown right along with Lachlan; it was a strong, healthy community. Good people, with good hearts. He owed them the best he could give them, didn’t he?

  He stared at the pack for a long time before he finally worked up the courage to open it. Aislinn had been very protective of it. The few times he’d tried to peek inside she’d snatched it out of his hands, her cheeks pink, saying that what was inside was “personal”.

  If she was here, he would have continued to respect her wish for privacy. But Aislinn was gone, and he could not resist the urge to have one last chance at knowing the woman who had captured his heart.

  With trembling hands, Lachlan extracted the items one by one and arranged them on the table. Only once the pack was empty and everything was laid out before him would he allow himself to study each item with the reverence it deserved.

  There was a small device that fit easily in his hand, crafted of some unfamiliar material. He thought at first it might be similar to the silver orb she had shared with him, but this one was a soft pink color with unusual symbols and writing on the side and did not appear to vibrate. While examining it, he discovered one end came off. Lifting it to his nose, he recognized the soft, fresh scent he associated with the particularly tender areas along the sides of her breasts. Determining that it was some sort of fragrance, he let the familiar aroma fill his lungs and set it aside. Mayhap he would keep that one.

  Next, he looked at a long stick with some kind of short, stiff bristles arising from one end. He had actually seen her use this once when she thought he was still sleeping. She had squeezed some pasty white substance on the bristles and then moved it around in her mouth for a while before rinsing. When she returned to bed, her mouth had the delicious taste of peppermint. Mayhap he would hold on to that one, as well.

  His focus turned to a leather pouch. When unfolded, it revealed several small pockets, each of which held one of the shiny weapons he’d seen her use that first day. Extracting one, he found it extremely sharp, sucking his thumb where he had inadvertently punctured it with one especially honed tip. He had never seen anything like them, but Aislinn had wielded them expertly that day. Each was immaculately cleaned and sharp. Lachlan had respect for someone who took such care of their weapons. She should have them with her; if he could not take care of her, he would at least do everything he could to ensure she could take care of herself.

  He examined and quickly discarded what appeared
to be a roll of rectangular papers, greenish in color and marked with unfamiliar pictures and writing. If he had to guess, he would think it was some form of currency, but he had little interest in that. He set those aside, along with a small hairbrush.

  He saved the most interesting-looking items for last. One was a glass bottle half-filled with an amber liquid. After managing to remove the top (he had to twist, not pull, the odd cork), Lachlan lifted the bottle to his lips and smiled as he recognized the aroma of fine whiskey. Perhaps he should have felt some shock at finding such a strong spirit amongst a female’s things, but this was Aislinn, after all. Without apology, he lifted the bottle to his lips and drank in both toast and tribute, welcoming the smooth, slow burn.

  The last item appeared to be a book, but it was unlike any tome he had ever seen. Several inches thick, hardly bigger than his hand, the tops and bottoms appeared to be made of a thin parchment. Lachlan sucked a breath through his teeth when he took a closer look at the faded picture on the well-worn cover. It appeared to be that of a braw Highlander trapping a comely maiden in his arms, his intent clear by the hungry expression on the warrior’s face.

  Lachlan knew that look. It was the same one he had whenever he saw Aislinn.

  He opened the cover gently, for the book appeared as if it was ready to fall apart in his hands. He turned through the first couple of pages quickly – he could make neither heads nor tails of them – until he came to the beginning of the story. Then Lachlan Brodie began to read.

  Even as well-versed in English as he was, there was much that Lachlan didn’t understand. It took him most of the night, but he did read it all. By the time he was finished, the dawn was nigh and the bottle of whiskey had long since been emptied.

  And Lachlan Brodie, Laird of Dubhain, knew what he had to do.

  Chapter 11

  “Any sign of her?” Malcolm asked as he came to relieve Bowen in front of Aislinn’s door. The sun had risen hours earlier. They had all washed and eaten; the horses were packed and ready to go.