Highlander's Hope: A Scottish Historical Time Travel Romance (Called by a Highlander Book 2)

by Mariah Stone

  “Konnor, I want to hold a council about the castle’s defenses with my men. Will ye join us?”

  Join her? Did she trust him so much already? He had no experience with castles and swords and bows. But if she needed his help, he’d give it to her any way he could.

  “Yes, of course.” He lowered his legs to the floor, picked up one shoe, and put it on his good leg.

  “I’ll wait on the landing while ye dress,” Marjorie said.

  “Sure.”

  While Konnor was putting on his clothes, he realized his leg felt much better, and he didn’t need a crutch anymore. When he was dressed, he went in search of Marjorie. He found her looking fresh and beautiful, with her dark hair in a single braid that fell over her shoulder. She wore pants and a short tunic, dressed like a man again, but the belt hugged her thin waist. There was a sheath on her back, and the strap of it went between her breasts. Konnor pointedly looked at her face and didn’t allow his gaze to move an inch down, but even her full lips were torture.

  They made their way down the tower and across and into the next one. After climbing two flights of stairs, they walked through the entrance that connected the tower and the fortification wall. Malcolm, Tamhas, and two more armed men stood there waiting.

  Tamhas narrowed his eyes as he studied Konnor.

  “We need to decide what to do with the wall.” Marjorie pointed down at their feet.

  The wall was about ten feet thick, with merlons and crenels that had slits for bowmen at regular intervals. Where they stood, the merlons were gone, and the floor and outer part of the wall had crumbled. It would be dangerous for the defenders to stand here. The wall was lower and would be easy to climb. Konnor looked down and noticed another problem. The rubble and rocks that had fallen hadn’t been cleared away. They formed a nice hill to make it even easier for the attackers to get into the castle.

  “The MacDougalls came through here.” Marjorie pointed at the area.

  “Aye,” Malcolm added. “The bastarts climbed unnoticed in the darkness, killed three watchmen, and sneaked in. ’Twas that easy.”

  “When do you think they’ll attack?” Konnor said.

  He sank to his knees, wincing from the pain in his ankle, and touched the cold, rough stone. The crumbled part had disintegrated to an almost sand-like substance. Konnor brushed it with his hand, and the small shingles were sharp against his skin.

  “I dinna ken,” Marjorie said. “The spies dinna mention when.”

  “I think soon,” Malcolm said. “They are probably waiting for them and Colin. Once they realize their men are nae coming back with the boy, the chief will ken we have them and that we ken of the attack. He might come sooner rather than later.”

  Konnor nodded in agreement. They needed to repair the damage to the castle wall and fast. But if they only had days, there was no way they could get enough rocks and mortar in time for it to dry.

  “We need to find a mason and order the repair, aye?” Marjorie said.

  Malcolm nodded in agreement, but Tamhas frowned.

  “You likely have days, Marjorie,” Konnor said. “I doubt it can be done so quickly.”

  “Well, no, but surely the mason will at least know how to repair it to some extent within days.”

  That would not work. Konnor’s back was covered in cold sweat at the thought of what could happen to Marjorie, Colin, and her people if the MacDougalls got in. Adrenalin shot through his blood.

  “No, you’re wrong.” Konnor said. Marjorie jerked her head back as though he’d slapped her. “What you need to do is take matters in your own hands.”

  He fingered the dry mortar in a slit between the rocks, then stood up.

  “What you need to do is make it difficult for the enemy to enter here. Rather than hiring a mason to start fixing the wall, ask a blacksmith to make you iron spikes to make it hard for them to climb over the wall, like big arrow tips. Or you can have men make them out of wood, but have the blacksmith attach them securely to the wall.” Konnor imagined bird spikes that were used as anti-intruder protection on fences and walls. “Make it so the enemy can’t climb here.”

  Marjorie looked at him wide eyed. “But ’tis nae but a quick fix.”

  “You don’t have time for a proper repair. You also need to remove the rubble down below.” Konnor pointed down the wall, and everyone looked at what he was talking about. “They’ll have less of a ramp and more of a climb.”

  “That will take men,” Marjorie said. “And they need to train to prepare for the fight.”

  “What they need is to be smart,” Konnor said. Marjorie opened her mouth and frowned again, clearly unhappy he’d contradicted her. “Next, you should build rows of wooden stakes at the base of the walls so they cannot use siege ladders.”

  Marjorie shook her head, her eyes flashing. “Ye have no idea what you’re suggesting. That will take all the men. Every single one. They need to polish their fighting skills for when the enemy gets in.”

  “What I’m suggesting will prevent the enemy from getting in.”

  Malcolm nodded. “He’s right, lass, I think he has good ideas.”

  “He canna contradict the mistress like that, she kens better,” Muir said.

  “I’m not done,” Konnor said. “In Iraq, we used drones for early detection, but you can put watchmen out in the woods in all directions, preferably from where the MacDougalls are likely to show up. Give them a signal, something your men can recognize. Something that can give you advance warning.”

  “But that would mean risking the lives of more men! I already lost three last night. I cannot lose another.” She shook with anger. Her cheeks reddened, and her eyes were shooting lightning bolts. Like a Celtic goddess of war, she was ready to fight him.

  “But—” Konnor started.

  “Nae, ’tis quite enough. When I asked for yer help, I dinna mean for ye to suggest strategy that would undermine mine. Ye dinna ken our ways, and ye dinna ken this castle. Leave. I dinna need yer help nae more. My men and I will decide, nae ye.”

  Her rejection stung, but worse was the fear for her. The mistakes she was about to make would get her into the exact nightmare she was trying to escape from.

  “Listen to me—” Konnor said.

  “Leave,” Tamhas insisted. “Ye heard the mistress.”

  “Marjorie—”

  “Go,” she said and turned away, her shoulders rising and falling quickly with her rapid breathing.

  Konnor stared at her back, his nostrils flared, his fists clenching. “Go to your room, Konnor. Lock the door.” The helplessness of the little boy he’d been dragged at his arms, enveloping him in a tight, sticky cocoon. He couldn’t protect his mother from danger all those years ago. And Marjorie, this beautiful, beautiful Highland queen, needed more protection than anyone after what she’d been through. And he wouldn’t let any harm come to her son.

  He wouldn’t abandon her, wouldn’t let her anger chase him away. “You want me gone?” he said, and she turned to him, her green eyes ablaze. “Well, too fucking bad. I’m not leaving. Deal with it.”

  Ignoring her widened eyes and the sinking feeling of helplessness in his gut, he walked towards the tower. He had to do something. He couldn’t leave, and he couldn’t sit and watch her dig her own grave. He’d find a cart and start removing the rubble at the base of the walls himself.

  Chapter 13

  Konnor picked up a rock and tossed it onto a pile of stones in the garden cart. It landed with a loud bang. He’d been working for a while through the pain tearing his ankle apart.

  The northern castle wall loomed over him into a blue sky. The two guards standing on the wall threw curious glances at him from time to time. Despite the sun, the wind bit the skin of his bare back, wet from sweat.

  He didn’t get women. First, Marjorie wanted his help. Now, she wanted him gone. What exactly had changed? All he’d done was give his advice, just like she’d wanted. Ignoring the pain from the calloused, raw skin on his palms, he leaned
down and picked another rock, his nostrils flaring, his blood still fuming at Marjorie’s dismissal.

  He threw it onto the pile and straightened, breathing in deeply to calm himself. The air was rich with the scents of fishy, lake water that came from the loch, flowers, and dung. Sheep were grazing peacefully nearby, and Konnor followed the herd with his eyes and then looked into the woods he and Marjorie had come out of. The stream he and Marjorie had followed on their way to the castle two days ago would take him back to the ruin with the magical rock. He could leave and get back to his time and to civilization. Then he could forget all this BS.

  Yes, he’d get back home. He’d make sure his mom was okay, visit her twice a week like he’d always done. Do some repairs on the house, throw the garbage, run errands for her, and keep her company. She’d cook and show him the new paintings she’d done. She’d picked up painting after Jerry’s death at the suggestion of her therapist, and it had been really good for her.

  Her art used to be dark, a combination of black colors and reds, but with time, they became lighter and started varying in themes: a sunny Californian beach, the landscape of the Rocky Mountains in a snowstorm, flowers, and such.

  Before his trip to Scotland, he’d brought her groceries and she’d showed him the painting portraying a lonely ship in a turbulent sea. Something about the dark waves, the black sky, and that sole white triangle of a sail had shot right into his heart. Did she feel lonely like this?

  Or did he?

  “Mom, this is really good,” he’d said with what felt like a stone in his throat. “I’m no expert, but you should show this to someone. How many do you have now in your shed?”

  She’d waved her hand at him and chuckled. Her blue eyes had dimmed as she’d looked at it. She’d tucked her blond lock behind her ear. “I’ve no idea. Hundreds, maybe? Ten years worth of pain and seventeen years worth of therapy, hon.”

  Therapy, yeah. Thank God for therapy. With the years, she’d even started dressing with more colors. Blank, gray sweaters and trousers were replaced with flowy, light tunics, long, colorful skirts. She’d started dying her hair regularly and tried new haircuts. She’d even hosted a weekly book club at her home where, from what she’d told him, her friends and her mostly drank wine and chatted.

  “You’re good, Mom,” Konnor had insisted. “They belong in a gallery.”

  “Ah, stop it.” She’d stood up, holding her lower back with one hand and the painting with the other. The earrings one of her friends had made with sea-glass clanked. “All my artwork is like entries in my personal journal. Who’d want to buy my therapy? By the way, I thought of you when I was doing this one.”

  Konnor’s chest had tightened. Had she perceived his loneliness? She was his mom, so he wasn’t be surprised. Yeah, he was lonely. A part of him did want a relationship, a real connection. But that was impossible. He’d only hurt the woman with his inability to open up.

  He’d taken out two thousand dollars and laid the bills on the coffee table. “This should be enough until I’m back.”

  She’d stared at the money. “This is too much, Konnor.”

  “Just in case. I won’t be here, so who knows. I’ll feel better you have a bit more than you need.”

  Yeah, he’d be back, and she’d show him another painting. He’d continue managing his business. He’d need to hire more guys, because he was getting more and more inquiries from Hollywood.

  He’d remember Marjorie. He’d torture himself thinking about how he’d left her in the midst of danger when he’d promised to protect her. Glenkeld didn’t stand a chance in the condition it was in. The image of her, wounded and bleeding, invaded his mind. Her black hair spilled on the ground, her eyes darkening with death. Pain gripped his throat, and he stopped to take a breather.

  But what could he do? She didn’t want his help. He was alone, hurling these damned rocks. And besides, Marjorie was right. He didn’t know this world. He did need to listen to her, not just boss her around.

  Konnor had seen people die in a battle before—his friends and army buddies who’d gone too early. Every time he thought of them, sharp pain pierced his chest.

  He couldn’t save everyone, but he could swallow his pride, go back to the castle, and find a way to work together with Marjorie to protect her.

  Yes, he’d only met her a few days ago. He didn’t really know her. But he felt for her much more than he wanted to admit. The Highland queen could bring him to his knees. What had happened to her connected them beyond words, even though she didn’t know it. He just couldn’t walk away.

  Did he believe in destiny? Not really. Not until now, anyway. But after he’d found out about the common threads in their pasts, Isbeil’s words about finding the person you’re really destined for by traveling through the stone didn’t sound as absurd as it should.

  Fact was, Konnor couldn’t live with himself if he up and left Marjorie in peril now. He just couldn’t. He had to try to make this right.

  And the way to make this right lay with him opening up to her and working together with her. And that could cost him so much more than she could ever imagine.

  That could cost him his heart.

  Marjorie ran the blade of her claymore across the whetstone, and it let out a satisfying whoosh. The blade didn’t really need sharpening, but after Konnor left the council, she’d needed an excuse to do something physical to distract herself.

  Going out riding would have been good, but she was not going to set foot outside the castle, not while MacDougalls could be out there, waiting for her to make one mistake.

  She was so mad with Konnor. What an infuriating man. She’d only asked for his advice and help as a soldier. She hadn’t expected him to lay out a whole strategy in front of her and her men and completely undermine what she had in mind.

  The truth was, it was her pride that hurt. She was inexperienced, but she was in charge of the castle and her whole clan. She needed to appear like she knew what she was doing. And he’d pointed out she didn’t.

  She ran the blade over the stone again, her hands warm in the blacksmith’s gloves.

  “I think it’s already sharp enough,” Konnor said.

  Marjorie’s heart gave a lurch and galloped against her ribcage. She looked up. He stood in the doorway to the smithy. Marjorie straightened and brushed her forehead with the back of her gloved hand. Her cheeks burned, but that must be from the exercise, surely not because he was looking her like that with his handsome eyes. How could a man have such long eyelashes? And what was that pleasant warmth spreading in her stomach at the sight of him?

  “Did ye need something?”

  “Yes. I need to keep my word.”

  “Oh?”

  “I promised to help you, to do anything to protect you. In my life, I’ve seen enough people harmed, and I couldn’t do anything about that. But I can do something to try help save you.”

  Marjorie’s heart jumped again. Those words melted something within her. Was he being truthful? Could she trust him? He was a stranger, after all, no matter how dashing and charming.

  “Why? Why is it so important for ye to stay and save me? I’m no one to ye. It seemed just yesterday all ye wanted was to go back to…wherever it is that you came from.”

  “You helped me,” he said. “I’m a soldier and a bodyguard. I won’t be able to live with myself if I don’t try to protect you.”

  She studied him. A grimace of inner turmoil flickered across his face. “No, there’s something more.”

  He walked into the smithy and stood by her side, his eyes on the sword. In the semidarkness of the workshop, the outside world disappeared. All she could hear was the sound of her heart drumming in her ears.

  His hand lay casually next to hers. “Yes. There is. I know the pain you went through.”

  Her breath fled her chest.

  “Ye were—”

  “Not me.” He met her gaze, and she choked from the pain in his eyes. “Someone very close to me though.”

>   She looked down, and her vision blurred. “I dinna need anyone to point out I’m weak,” she whispered. “That I’m not suited for the role of protector of the castle. That I need to show some courage.”

  Konnor reached out and gently lifted her chin, making her look at him. “That’s not at all how I meant it. I think… I think you’re the strongest woman I know.”

  Her throat convulsed painfully as she tried to swallow the tears. She shook her head. “How? I’ve trained to be a warrior for years, and yet I’ve nae been in a real battle. Yesterday, if it wasna for ye, I’d have lost my son to the MacDougalls. I proved I couldn’t defend him in my own home.”

  He removed his hand, and she quickly wiped her eyes and then ran the other side of the sword across the stone. She put the blade against the light and inspected the edge. It ran smooth and was blemish free, like the first ice on the loch. Perfect. Sharp.

  “Trust me, I dinna need an outlander to remind me how little chance we have under my leadership.”

  “Look, Marjorie”—he gently took her hands in his and lowered the sword— “you are the best chance the castle has because you care about it like no one else. Because no one else has been through what you’ve been through, and no one will put their heart and body on the line like you will.”

  Something released in her chest, and she breathed easier.

  “And what you lack in knowledge and experience,” Konnor continued, “that’s what teamwork is for. You have Malcolm, who looks like he’s seen his fair share of battles. And you have Tamhas. You have your warriors. And you have me.”

  She sank into the blue sea of his eyes, and everything around her blurred but him.

  “If you let me stay and help.”

  Jesu, his voice enveloped and caressed her, bringing her soothing relief. His face was so close, she could see every bristle on his square jaw. How would it feel if she touched him? Sharp and raw? Or smooth? She’d like either. His eyes were dark blue, like the loch before rain. Oh, she could sink in them, let them take her into their depths.