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

by Mariah Stone

  And what about love leading to pain? Could it be any worse than what he’d gone through when he’d left Marjorie?

  He knew exactly what he wanted to be.

  And, for some strange reason, that gave him exactly the freedom he needed to know that as long as he didn’t become his stepfather, he’d be all right.

  He’d make Marjorie happy.

  He’d teach Colin soccer and read him the Lord of the Rings, and show him what it took to be a good man.

  Because, in a perverse way, that was exactly what Jerry had taught him.

  “You are all right, aren’t you?” Konnor said to Mark.

  Mark chuckled. “I think I am.”

  “You won’t hurt her? You’ll support her and take care of her?”

  Mark’s eyes relaxed with understanding and shone with a calm, inner light. “Of course I will.”

  And Konnor knew that he would. His mom was ready to live her own life without his support.

  And he was ready to live his.

  With Marjorie and Colin. Even if it meant going back to the Middle Ages. He was ready to go back, forever, if that was what it took to be with the woman he loved.

  He’d go back to the Highlands and wouldn’t stop until he found the faerie or some way to open up the damn tunnel through time. He didn’t know yet what he’d say to his mom, what he’d say to Andy, and what he’d do with his firm… But he’d figure it out, and as soon as he did, he’d take a plane to Scotland and go hiking, and somehow, he would get lost.

  But he had to know one thing. “Mark, do you have any relations in the Scottish Highlands?”

  “I think my ancestors were Campbells, yeah. Why?”

  Konnor grinned. “It’s just you remind me of someone. If you’re anything like him, I think my mom will be all right.”

  Chapter 31

  Two days later…

  Marjorie wiped her forehead with the back of her hand and put her sword back in its sheath. The sun burned her skin after a long training session. The courtyard around her swarmed with activity. Other warriors trained, too, and the air was loud with the ring of swords clashing against each other. She’d hoped regular exercise would take her mind off the constant, nagging pain in her chest that had been there since Konnor left.

  But nothing did.

  With Ian gone yesterday, she’d plunged into an even deeper darkness and despair.

  “Good,” Marjorie said to Colin. “Ye will be a great warrior one day.”

  The lad grinned and blushed.

  “‘Tis an honor to be trained by ye, my lady.”

  “My lady?” She chuckled. “Please.”

  “Aye, but ye are. Ye’re a great lady and a great warrior who protected the castle all by yerself.”

  Marjorie took a sip from her waterskin. “I would never have been able to do that if nae for our clan. And our good friend.”

  Her voice shook a little as she said the last word, and her stomach twisted. She nodded to Colin and went to the well to wash her face. The cool water brought some relief and distracted her a bit from constant thoughts of Konnor. She’d dreamed about him every night, imagining how his life was, hoping he was well. She tried to picture the future, the houses and castles that people had, the horseless carriages that Konnor had described, the cupboards where food didn’t go bad, the boxes with bards that played music whenever one wanted. The world where women were men’s equals.

  Her position was remarkable with the freedom her father and her Uncle Neil had given her, but it was because they both felt guilty and wanted to spare her feelings. Any other woman her age would be expected to marry and run her husband’s household, not wield a sword and protect their castle.

  “Are ye tired, lass?” Isbeil said behind her back.

  Marjorie turned around. The old woman’s kind eyes fixed on her with sympathy and amusement.

  “Aye,” Marjorie said, wiping her face with her sleeve. “I’ve been training the lad since the midday meal.”

  “I am nae talking about that. Are ye nae tired from this waiting and sighing? ‘Tis already been two sennights since he left.”

  Of course, Isbeil saw deeper. And of course, Isbeil was right.

  Marjorie propped her hands against her waist. “Aye. But I canna do much about it, can I?”

  Isbeil chuckled softly and shook her head. “If ‘tis the story ye keep telling yerself, let us take a walk. Help me gather some herbs.”

  Marjorie really didn’t want Isbeil to lecture her or point at any more painful spots in her soul. Marjorie was happy to help her, but the main reason for the walk wouldn’t be herbs.

  “Mother, may I come?” Colin said.

  He suddenly appeared by Marjorie’s side. The lad used every opportunity to go outside the castle walls.

  Isbeil turned and walked towards the gates. “Come, Colin. Ye can help me, too.”

  Marjorie looked at the old woman’s back helplessly. How was it possible that such a small creature had so much power? She sighed, nodded to Colin, and they followed her.

  Passing by the gates, Marjorie marveled at how easy it had become for her to walk out of the castle on her own. Ever since the battle, she’d gone hunting and taken long walks in the woods by herself. All she needed was her sword and her bow. She felt safe in her own company.

  They walked in silence for a while, as fast as Isbeil’s aching knees allowed. Colin went to the side a bit, happily beating trees with a stick, as boys did. He leaned down from time to time and picked wild strawberries, bringing some to Isbeil and Marjorie. They crossed the flat meadow and walked into the woods, following the creek in the crevice that had the ruin that had taken Konnor away. Marjorie’s stomach knotted painfully at the thought, and she took a lungful of the fresh scent of the woods and exhaled it to release the ache.

  It was quiet here. Birds chirped, the stream murmured gently, and leaves rustled in the wind. From both sides, steep, rocky slopes descended into ravine. Ferns and wildflowers grew around bushes and trees. Rocks and boulders lay scattered. Isbeil stopped and bent over.

  “Ah, thistle.” She carefully cut a violet floret with experienced fingers so that the needles didn’t hurt her and studied it briefly. “For Malcolm’s heart. Although ‘tis yer heart that concerns me now.”

  “Found them, too!” called Colin from about twenty feet away.

  Marjorie sank to her knees by another gathering of thistle and cut a floret with her dagger. She hissed when the thorns prickled her. “My heart? I’m healthy and strong. Dinna fash yerself about me, Isbeil.”

  “Hmm.”

  “Truly.”

  “‘Tis nae yer physical heart I speak of. Dinna pretend like ye dinna catch my meaning.”

  Marjorie stood up and dropped the florets into Isbeil’s basket. The old woman looked at her with reproach.

  “What do ye want me to say?” Marjorie threw up her hands. “That I miss him? I do. That he broke my heart? He did. All that is true enough. And so?”

  “And so?” Isbeil straightened up with a fleeting expression of pain. “Ye’ve lived as a shadow of yerself ever since ye came back from Dunollie. After Konnor came, I saw ye flourish and heal and come back into yer true self. And now that he’s gone, ye’re nae yerself again.”

  Marjorie turned away, her face flushed, something stabbing between her ribs. “It’ll pass. I’ll forget him.”

  Even she heard the false tone in her voice. She’d never forget him. Konnor’s name was branded on her heart, his presence on her soul, his touch on her skin. Forever. If she was supposed to be happy with anyone, it was him. She wanted no one else’s hands on her, no one else’s lips, and no one else’s body.

  “Hmm,” Isbeil hemmed again and came to kneel by a big gathering of thistle near Marjorie.

  “I’ll try,” Marjorie added.

  “Ye will try. But ye will fail. How do ye imagine yer life from now on?”

  Marjorie shrugged. “I’d go to war with my clan, but I canna leave Colin. Sooner or later, my d
a and Uncle Neil and my brothers will come back. Perhaps we’ll travel. I’d like go see Ireland with him… Mayhap, France. Mayhap, Flanders…”

  “Flanders,” Isbeil muttered, her hands working efficiently on the thistle. “Ye want to travel all right. Only nae to Flanders. Were ye nae like an excited wee lass when he told ye all about the future? I dinna remember ye ever being as joyful about my Highland tales as ye were about Konnor’s.”

  Marjorie stilled with the thistle in her hands. Travel to the future? “Of course, I’m curious. Who wouldna be?”

  “I am nae curious. I am perfectly fine where I am.”

  “But I’d never go.”

  Isbeil scoffed. “And what keeps ye here?”

  “Everything! My life is here. Colin’s life is. My father, my brothers, my whole clan…”

  “I dinna think they struggle up north without ye.”

  Marjorie pressed her lips tightly together.

  “I’m Craig’s only sister of whole blood.”

  “And?”

  Marjorie threw the thistles angrily into Isbeil’s basket. “Isbeil, even if I wanted to abandon everything here, he doesn’t want me there.”

  “And how do ye ken that?”

  Marjorie frowned. How did she know that? He hadn’t asked her to come with him, but he also hadn’t said he didn’t want her to come. Aye, he had things he needed to do in the future, but his main reason for leaving hadn’t been that he didn’t love her. It was that he worried he wouldn’t be a good enough husband and father. That he couldn’t give her the love and happiness she deserved.

  But he’d been a good role model for Colin. And he could give her love and happiness. He was the only one who could.

  And she loved him. Her heart thumped painfully against her chest at the thought. She loved him more than anything. She loved him so much, she was half a person without him in her life. And it didn’t matter where that life was—here or in a distant future.

  She wasn’t a coward anymore. She’d walked out of the castle alone many times. Could she be brave enough to go even farther than that—to go into the future?

  But all that was completely useless.

  “Even if he didn’t mind me there,” Marjorie said. “Even if the Pictish magic works, and I can go, he didna ask me to go with him. How can I trust he’ll want me there?”

  “Ye canna trust he’ll want ye? He risked his life for ye and yer son. If ‘tisna love, I dinna ken what is.”

  Marjorie glanced sharply at her. “Love? Ye think he loves me?”

  Isbeil laughed. “Of course he loves ye, ye silly lass.”

  “But he said… He said he shouldna have become close with me.”

  “‘Tisna because he didna love ye. ‘Tis because he does. And he doesna want to hurt ye.”

  Marjorie shook her head slowly, thoughts whirling in her head like leaves on the wind.

  “But he doesna want to be with me because he thinks love is a lie. Because of his stepda.”

  “What of his stepda?”

  Marjorie bit her lip. “His stepda is his ma’s Alasdair.”

  Isbeil stopped plucking. “Oh.”

  “Aye. He’s afraid he’s going to hurt me.”

  Isbeil resumed plucking. “And do ye think he might hurt ye?”

  “Nae. Never.”

  “Ah, dinna sink yer head so, lass,” Isbeil said. “He’s a man of honor. A good man for ye, lass. I believe the faerie didna send him through time for ye for nothing. If ye can be happy with anyone, ‘tis him.”

  Marjorie exhaled sharply. The truth of those words sank into her. Her heart squeezed with a dull ache and longing for Konnor. She’d found her inner strength thanks to him. But was she strong enough to cross time?

  Marjorie locked her eyes with Isbeil. “Am I brave enough to risk everything?”

  “The question is, lass, how much do ye love him?”

  Marjorie’s eyes filled with tears. “More than life itself.” As she said that, she felt like she expanded, as though her body became bigger and taller and encompassed the whole world, was connected to everything around her.

  “There’s yer answer,” Isbeil said softly.

  Marjorie looked at Colin. “But ‘tis nae just my decision, Isbeil. ‘Tis also Colin’s. I canna leave him here, and I canna force him to go.”

  “Have ye asked him if he want to? He’s terribly in love with that… What does he call it? The Ticker?”

  Marjorie studied Colin, who was sharpening a stick with his knife thoughtfully. She hadn’t even considered that Colin might actually want to go to the future. He loved the clan, and it would be difficult leaving everything he knew behind—his grandfather, his uncles, his home…

  “No. I’m sure he doesna want to. His whole world is here. He’d never want to leave the clan.”

  “Ye stubborn Cambel,” Isbeil murmured. “Ye’re even more hard-headed than yer father. And as long as I lived, I havna met anyone as stubborn as he is.”

  Marjorie clenched her jaw tightly. “Ye dinna ken my son as well as I do, Isbeil…”

  “Ugh!” Isbeil splayed her hands in the air, her face distorted in an angry mask. She was angry. Marjorje had never seen her angry in her life. “I swear, ye Cambel children will be the end of me one day.” She sighed and watched Marjorie as though contemplating her next words.

  “Lass,” she said, “I have not lived all these years to watch ye crumble and darken and curl into a ball again. A part of my soul would die. Did ye ken yer son came and asked me why his mother is so sad? If there is something he can do to put a smile on yer face? He asked me if I have a magic potion that would make his mother happy.”

  A pain as sharp as the tip of an arrow pierced Marjorie’s chest. She looked at her son, who’d now found a hazelnut cluster and was kicking it around, just like Konnor had. Her eyes blurred with tears.

  “Konnor came,” Isbeil continued with her index finger pointed in the air, “and there was no magic potion needed. Ye bloomed. And so did Colin.”

  Oh, Jesu, she was right! He had seemed happier and more excited. His eyes had shone when Konnor had told him tales of the twenty-first century.

  Marjorie swallowed a painful knot. “But the clan is more important to him. He’s a Highlander. He’s a Cambel. I canna just uproot him from everything he kens.”

  “And how do ye see his future? He doesna have an inheritance. Ye dinna have land. When yer father dies, Glenkeld will belong to Craig as the oldest, aye? Domhnall has an estate already. Owen is entitled to land, as well, if yer father ever decides he’s mature enough. There is nothing left for ye, lass, and therefore nothing for Colin. As long as yer father lives, ye live with him. But what next? Will ye be forever at the mercy of yer brothers? Will ye leave Colin forever at their mercy, too? Will the lad have to bow down to that MacDougall scum and beg to be made his heir after all?”

  Marjorie inhaled sharply. “My brothers will never betray me.”

  “Aye. Of course they wouldna. But will ye like to live forever at someone’s mercy, for yer son to?”

  Oh, she hadn’t even considered that. Isbeil was right. Marjorie would hate it with every fiber of her soul. Konnor had told her that women were as strong and as rich as men in the future. They earned their own fortune and didn’t need to depend on a husband to have a good life.

  What world did she want to live in? And what world did she want Colin to grow up in? She was sure it wasn’t as simple as Konnor described, and she had no idea if she could find her own place in that future world, but she liked the idea of equality. She liked the idea of being independent. And she wanted Colin to experience that, too. He was a bastart here, no matter how much her family loved him and treated him like he wasn’t. He’d never have the same rights here as a legitimate child. He’d always be treated like an inferior man by those born in a legitimate marriage.

  What would he become? A mercenary. A knight, perhaps? He could still have a good life here, but only if it was connected to war and full of dangers. />
  Or he could accept John MacDougall’s offer to legitimize him. But Marjorie couldn’t stomach the thought of her boy in their hands.

  Though Konnor was a warrior, too, the twenty-first century he’d described sounded like a more peaceful and healthy time.

  And yet there was so much she couldn’t even imagine. How would she even find Konnor? How would she make sure she and Colin were safe? Would Konnor want them there at all? Would he send them back? What if Colin got his hopes up only to be rejected and hurt by Konnor?

  She couldn’t let her son get hurt. And yet she wanted to go. She wanted to dare. She wanted to see the future. Most importantly, she wanted to be with Konnor.

  “Colin, son,” she called. “Come here, please?”

  Colin caught the hazelnut cluster in the air and came to Marjorie. “Can I help ye with something, Mother?”

  Marjorie inhaled and looked at Isbeil, who chuckled a sly, satisfied smile and busied herself with another thistle plant.

  “Tell me something, son,” she said. “When Konnor told ye all those stories of his time, what did ye think of them?”

  His eyes sparkled. “I enjoyed them very much.”

  She swallowed a lump in her throat. “Would ye like to see it?”

  His eyebrows rose to his bangs. “Aye, I would. Of course I would.”

  She squeezed his hand. “Me, too. And could ye imagine…” She chuckled softly, not believing she was about to ask this. “Could you imagine living in the future?”

  He stilled and blinked. “Living there? With Konnor?”

  She nodded. “Aye. I hope so.”

  “And what about Grandfather? And my uncles? And Isbeil? What about Glenkeld?”

  “They’d stay here. Ye’d probably never see them again.”

  She bit her lip, gathering strength for what she was about to say next. “There’s one more question, Colin. The question of yer inheritance. Yer grandfather MacDougall wants to have ye. He wants to legitimize ye. That would mean ye’d have right of inheritance. Ye could stay here and get lands and status from him. I just want ye to ken all yer options.”