Time of a Highlander (Arch Through Time, #12) Read online

  A courtyard and stable lay beyond. The castle walls reared above but there was nobody around.

  “This way.”

  They pelted across the courtyard and into the stable. A startled stable-lad looked up as they entered.

  Blair straightened and put on his best lord’s voice. “Have a mount saddled for the lady and myself. And quickly.”

  Recognizing the snap of command in Blair’s voice, the lad hurried to obey. He led forward a beautiful chestnut gelding and saddled him. Blair took the reins and then indicated for the lass to come forward. She looked a little dazed but did as he asked, surprising Blair by putting her foot into the stirrup and swinging into the saddle as easily as someone who’d been riding all her life.

  Blair tucked the sword through his belt and swung up behind her. Giving the stable boy a nod of thanks, he set his heels to the horse’s flanks and sent the beast trotting outside.

  Blair’s blood was up. It pounded through his veins like molten metal, quickening his breathing, filling him with a reckless euphoria. This was what he lived for. Not for him the quiet life stewarding his uncle’s lands. Not for him a seat by a fire and a cup of ale in his hand. No, he only felt truly alive when he was risking himself for his clan.

  In that respect, he was very much his father’s son.

  With an eye honed through years of training with his cousins, he noted the positions of the guards, their likely line of attack, and the quickest, safest route of escape.

  He nudged the horse over to the wall, guiding it into the wall’s shadow to hide them from prying eyes on the battlements above. With heart pounding, he edged the beast along the wall’s base towards the gate that led into the main bailey then pulled to a halt. The lass said nothing, but she clung to the saddle with knuckles that had gone white.

  Blair peered into the bailey beyond. It was busy with people coming and going and the gate over the other side—the main gate of the keep that would lead to their freedom—was heavily guarded.

  “How are we going to get through that?” the lass whispered.

  How indeed?

  “Dinna worry,” he reassured her. “I’ll think of something.”

  Blair sat motionless for one, two, three heartbeats, assessing their options. They were limited to say the least. Any moment now somebody would find those dead guards and then all Hell would break loose. They had to get away now.

  There was nothing else for it.

  “Hang on,” he said to the lass. Then, before she could respond, he kicked the horse hard in the ribs. “Yah!”

  With a shrill whinny, the beast sprang forward, exploding into an urgent gallop. The lass cried out in fright as they burst into the bailey and the horse went hurtling towards the main gate. People scattered out of their way and a rumpus broke out up on the battlements as the guards scrambled down.

  Five guardsmen spilled across the gate ahead, holding drawn swords. They all looked like battle-scarred veterans who wouldn’t scare easily.

  But neither did Blair.

  He urged the horse to even greater speed and screams filled the bailey as people scrambled to get out of his way. A wild, exhilarated laugh burst from his lips and he raised the stolen sword over his head and bellowed a war cry.

  The lass closed her eyes, leaning low over the horse’s neck. Her lips moved as though she was praying. Blair had no time to spare for her. He watched the guards, saw their grim, determined looks and knew he was in a deadly game. Who would balk first? Would they stand their ground and risk being trampled? Or did they expect Blair to pull the horse up before he reached them?

  He was so close he could see the whites of the guards’ eyes, could see the sweat running down their foreheads. Still they didn’t move, blocking his path with a wall of human flesh.

  Then, at the last possible moment, Blair nudged the horse again, sent him a command, and the battle-trained warhorse responded immediately. He bunched his powerful muscles and leapt, tucking in his feet as he went sailing over the heads of the startled guardsmen to land with a clatter on the bridge over the moat.

  The beast stumbled only slightly before righting himself and then taking off down the road with a toss of his head. He seemed to be enjoying himself as much as Blair.

  He gave the horse his head, allowing him to streak down the road, weaving in and out of the traffic of carts, wagons and people on foot that were making their way up to the castle gates. Eventually the road climbed a rise and dipped down the other side, hiding the castle from view.

  Only when there was nobody in sight to report their movements did he slow the horse to a walk and guide him off the road, down the slope and into a rushing brook that meandered through a stand of trees. He had no doubt that Beaumont would soon be after them, possibly with dogs, so he had to ensure he could not pick up their trail.

  He drove the horse along the streambed for over a mile before guiding him up the bank on the other side and into the densely packed woodland that grew down to the water’s edge.

  It had been a dry summer and the horse’s hooves left no mark behind on the hard-packed earth. Blair was immensely grateful for that. It would make it harder for Beaumont to track them.

  Nevertheless, he kept pulling the mount to a halt and listening for sounds of pursuit and then back-tracked, laid false trails and employed every trick his uncle Finlay had taught him on how to lose a pursuer.

  Only when he was certain he’d done enough to throw Beaumont off their trail did he pull the horse to a stop in a wide clearing, swung his leg over the horse’s broad back and dismounted.

  He held out a hand to help the lass down, but she ignored his proffered hand, swung her leg back and dismounted on her own.

  Blair nodded to himself. She was obviously an accomplished rider. That would make life easier.

  “I think we should be safe here,” he said. “I—”

  A full-handed slap caught him across the face with enough force to snap his head to the side.

  The lass looked furious. Her eyes blazed and her shoulders were hunched as though preparing for another strike. Blair rubbed his cheek. He’d been slapped by women many times during his life but never by one he’d just rescued from a dungeon.

  “What was that for?” he growled.

  “Are you completely crazy?” she yelled. “You could have gotten us both killed! What were you thinking riding like that? Have you no concern for the welfare of your passenger or the horse?”

  “Lass, I—”

  “And my name is not ‘lass’! It’s Georgie!”

  Without waiting for an answer, she whirled away, pulled the horse’s reins over his head, and led him down to the stream to drink, talking softly to him all the while.

  Blair opened his mouth for an angry retort and then snapped it shut again. He couldn’t think of a damned thing to say. He watched as she led the horse to the stream and soothed the beast with gentle hands.

  So much for the frightened prisoner he’d met earlier. This lass had fire in her. Who was she? It was time he found out.

  GEORGIE KNELT BY THE stream and splashed water on her face. It was so cold it stung her skin but also helped to clear her thoughts. She was so worked up she was shaking. She couldn’t tell whether it was from anger, fear, or a mixture of the two.

  What had possessed her to hit Blair? He didn’t seem the kind of man who would take kindly to that, no matter how justified it had felt at the time.

  No, he’s the kind of man who kills people, she thought.

  Her mind flashed back to their escape from the dungeon. She’d been so frightened that she’d just frozen in the guardroom. She’d seen that sword swinging towards her and she’d not been able to move an inch. But Blair had stepped forward and killed those men without hesitation. He’d killed them! When she closed her eyes, she could still see their blood seeping into the cracks between the flagstones.

  But if he hadn’t killed them? Would it be her and Blair lying bleeding on the floor?

  And then, during th
eir mad flight from the castle he’d been grinning! Grinning like this was all some game! The man was either crazy or totally reckless. She couldn’t decide which. But he was most definitely dangerous.

  She looked around. Quiet woodland surrounded the clearing, tangled with undergrowth. Could she make a run for it? Could she get away from him, figure out where she was, and find a way back to civilization?

  But even as she thought it, she realized it was impossible. If she got lost, she’d be unlikely to find her way back again and besides, Blair would no doubt come after her.

  Footsteps crunched in the leaf litter as he stepped up behind her. Georgie tensed then slowly reached out and grabbed a stout branch lying on the stream’s edge. If he was going to cause her trouble then she would damn-well defend herself.

  But when he spoke, his voice was surprisingly soft. “Lass. Georgie. I’m sorry.”

  Startled, she turned to look at him. He stood three paces away and had the sun behind him, making his golden hair gleam.

  “I’ve been told I can get a little...impetuous at times. I didnae mean to scare ye.” He held out a hand. “Will ye accept my apologies?”

  Surprised, she glanced at his outstretched hand. She remembered the way he’d held her hand back in the dungeon, the way he’d stopped her from panicking. How could that man, who’d shown such kindness, be the same man who had fought those men with such ferocity and killed without compunction? Who was Blair MacAuley?

  After a moment’s indecision, she reached out, clasped his hand and allowed him to pull her to her feet. She ended up standing a little too close, less than an arm’s length away.

  “I...um...sorry for slapping you.”

  He laughed, a rich, resonant sound. “Dinna worry about it, lass...er... Georgie. I’ve had worse. And besides, I probably deserved it.”

  His grin was infectious and, despite herself, she felt one of her own pulling at the corners of her mouth.

  “We’ll rest here for a while,” he announced. “I think ye’ve earned it, dinna ye?”

  Georgie nodded and slumped gratefully onto the grassy bank, stretching out her legs and leaning back on her hands. She felt exhausted but equally strung out, full of nervous energy.

  She watched as Blair led the horse over to some lush grass, grabbed a handful, and began using it to brush him down. She frowned. What modern-day Scotsman wore plaid, carried a sword, and knew how to fight and kill with it as easily as if he’d been doing so his whole life? None, that’s who.

  No, she thought. Don’t even think it. It can’t be that. It can’t.

  But no matter how much she tried, she couldn’t deny the evidence of her own eyes: the castle, the empty landscape, Blair himself. All the evidence pointed to one thing, no matter how totally crazy it seemed.

  She had traveled back in time.

  Keep calm, she instructed herself, as panic made her breathing shallow. You’re still alive, you’re unhurt, and if there was a way here, then there must be a way back. You just have to find it.

  She felt a touch on her shoulder and looked up to see Blair standing over her. She hadn’t even heard him approach.

  “What is it, lass? Ye look like ye’ve seen a ghost.”

  She had to swallow a few times before she could work up enough saliva to speak. “What year is this?”

  Blair cocked his head. “The year of Our Lord 1577.”

  She closed her eyes. Four hundred years. Dear God, she was over four hundred years in the past.

  Blair’s grip on her shoulder tightened. “I know this must be confusing, lass. But it will be all right.”

  “Will it?” she asked with a shrill laugh. “I may as well have landed on another planet.”

  He watched her for a moment and then sat next to her. He held out his hand. A mound of dark blue berries filled his palm.

  “Eat,” he said. “They aren’t much but should keep ye going for a wee while.”

  He tipped the berries into her hand. Georgie popped one in her mouth and chewed. It was deliciously sweet.

  “What about you?”

  He waved her concern away. “I’m not hungry.”

  She suspected that wasn’t true. She finished the berries in a few short minutes and wiped her palms on the grass. Blair watched her with a faint smile on his face.

  “Better?”

  She drew in a breath and met his gaze. “A little.”

  “Good. Now, let’s see if we can get this figured out. Ye came through Charles Beaumont’s arch, that much I understand. What I dinna quite understand is how.”

  Georgie hugged her arms around her knees. A light breeze stirred the trees, making them whisper, and the chirping of birds in the branches provided a counterpoint to the soft babbling of the stream. It was a stunningly beautiful place and at any other time Georgie would have taken the time to admire it, but now the scene just served as a reminder of how very far away from home she was.

  “Adaira Campbell saw the videos of my work I’ve been posting online,” she said eventually. “I never thought it would work. I didn’t have many subscribers, but I was desperate. The bank were going to take the house and Dad and I would have lost the business and—”

  “Whoa, slow down!” Blair said with a laugh. “I didnae understand half of that. I’ve no idea what ye mean by ‘video’ or ‘subscribers’.”

  “Oh, of course. Sorry.” She tried to gather her thoughts. “Adaira Campbell offered me a job and that brought me here, to Scotland. After that—”

  “Wait,” Blair said, cutting her off. “Ye work for Adaira Campbell?”

  Georgie started, a little taken aback by his sudden intensity. “Yes, like I told you, she saw my videos—”

  “Did she send ye here?”

  “What? No, I was trying to get away from her. Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “Because I assumed ye were an unwilling participant in all of this. I assumed that Adaira Campbell had used ye, sent ye through the arch against yer will. Now I find ye were working for her?”

  Georgie spread her hands. “I never meant to come here. I’m a stonemason. I was restoring that arch for her, that’s all.”

  If she thought her explanation would soothe him, she was mistaken. It seemed to have the opposite effect.

  “It was ye?” he said incredulously. “Ye restored the arch for Campbell and Beaumont? Have ye been in league with them all along?”

  Georgie stared at him incredulously. “What? No! I had never even heard of Charles Beaumont before I turned up in his courtyard and I’ve only known Adaira Campbell for two weeks! And she didn’t send me here. In fact she was very upset when I activated the arch—accidentally I might add—and threatened to kill me! That’s why I jumped through the arch! That’s why I’m here, so whatever conspiracy you think I’m part of, you’re wrong!”

  She scrubbed a hand through her hair. “I wish I could wind the clock back,” she muttered to herself. “I wish I could go back to two weeks ago so I could shut the door in Irene MacAskill’s face! It all started going crazy right after her visit. Maybe if I’d never met her, none of this would have happened.”

  Blair froze. “What was that? Did ye just say the name Irene MacAskill?”

  His focus changed like quicksilver. She couldn’t keep up with his mercurial thoughts. “What? Yes. What has that got to do with anything?”

  He looked suddenly wary, nervous even. “Ye met her?”

  Georgie nodded. “Yes. Why do you care? She was just an old woman who came to my workshop right before I got offered the job here.”

  He paled even further. All the blood seemed to have drained from his face. “What did she say to ye? Tell me her exact words.”

  Georgie swallowed thickly. Why was Blair acting this way? What was going on? “She told me that I had a choice coming, that I could help her restore the balance. It made no sense to me then, and it makes no sense to me now. Then she disappeared and right after that Adaira Campbell gave me a contract restoring the arches on an an
cient site here in Scotland. What has Irene MacAskill got to do with any of this?”

  Blair passed a hand over his face. “Everything, lass,” he breathed. “She has everything to do with this.”

  DESPITE THE WARMTH of the day, Blair suddenly felt cold. Irene MacAskill. He should have guessed that she was mixed up in this somehow.

  Georgie was watching him warily. Sudden shame washed through him. He’d all but accused her of being in league with Adaira Campbell—all without any real evidence.

  “All right,” he said, holding out a placating hand. “I need to think this through. So Irene MacAskill, not Adaira Campbell, sent ye here. But why? Why ye?”

  “What?”

  “Why would she send ye here?”

  “Why would who send me here? Are we still talking about Irene MacAskill? How could she send me anywhere? She was just some random old woman.”

  He barked a laugh but there was no humor in it. “If only that were true! There is naught random about that woman and she would indeed have the power to bring ye here if she so chose.” He watched Georgie for a moment, deciding how much to say. Then he huffed out a breath. “Irene MacAskill isnae the old woman she appears to be. She is Fae and the arch ye restored for Adaira Campbell is a Fae construct.”

  Georgie’s eyebrows rose and a look of incredulity spread across her features. “Fae? You mean as in ‘fairy’?”

  He nodded.

  “Yeah, sure,” she snorted. “Fairies brought me here. Why didn’t I think of that?”

  She climbed to her feet, turned away from him, hugging her arms around herself. He rose, began to take a step towards her, but the tense set of her shoulders warned him to stay away. She needed space to work through all he’d told her.

  Lord help him, he had a lot to think about too.

  After a moment of strained silence, she whirled to face him. “How do you know all of this? How do you know Adaira Campbell? A woman who lives over four hundred years in the future? How come you know about time travel and these ‘Fae’? And why were you in Beaumont’s dungeon?”