Highlander's Faerie (Highlander Heat Book 5) (2 page)

Dunyvaig Castle, MacDonald stronghold, 1590, two weeks following Katherine’s arrival.

Katherine stood at her chamber window. Beyond the gates, the faerie circle remained quiet, bare of any breeze, and the amulet glinting in the moonlight upon the center stone where her sister had tossed it following their arrival into the past. Something within the circle called to her, demanding her return, just as her nightly dreams urged her to do the same.

She needed answers, and it was time. She grasped her burgundy skirts, strode out of her room and down the winding stairs. Hurrying, she bypassed the great hall, walked across the stony inner courtyard and under the arched entrance.

After taking a deep, fortifying breath, she stepped into the circle and stopped before the center stone. Slowly, reverently, she picked up the amulet and whispered, “Guardians of Dunyvaig, why have you brought me here?”

A breeze lifted her hair and made it tickle her face.

“My child,” a voice breathed. “I’ve been waiting for you, to give you the guidance you seek.”

“Am I real? Nightmares assail me and I see my death here in this circle, a death I don’t remember.”

“Katherine, you no longer belong to the future, but here in the past. Wear the amulet. ’Tis yours to hold and will provide safe passage as you return to your MacLean kin.”

“I’m to travel to the Isle of Mull?” Her sister was here and now wed to a MacDonald, her MacLean clan’s greatest enemy. “Marie is away on her honeymoon. I can’t leave her.”

“You and your twin are two halves of one whole, the beginning and the end. You must complete what your sister has set in motion. Keep your warrior protector close. To bring peace, you must unite.”

“My warrior protector?”

“Aye, the man who is ever watchful, the one who caught you as you fell into this time.”

She slowly turned. High on the castle’s battlements, John MacDonald stood with one hand resting on his sword hilt and the sea breeze plastering his blue tunic to his broad chest. “He’s one of Angus MacDonald’s captains. He can’t travel with me to Mull and enter the enemy’s territory.”

“Aye, he can, if he does so for you. If that is what it will take for you to see the truth, then that is what must be.” The fae’s voice drifted on the wind, moving farther away. “You, my child, are of both clans, but there is more you arena aware of. There is magic all around you. Simply open your eyes if you wish to see it, then draw on the touch of fae blood you hold deep within you. You must accept your place in this time if you wish to survive.”

“Hold on. I have fae blood?”

All was eerily still and no answer came. The fae had gone, and just as quickly as she’d come. And drat it. She was still without answers. Were her nightmares real?

Hands shaking, she lifted the talisman’s silver chain over her head and pressed the amulet against her heart. She had a mission, and the fae’s words reverberated through her mind.
Keep your warrior protector close. To bring peace, you must unite.
Bringing some peace between the clans was what she longed for. A strange sense of rightness stole over her. As Marie had completed her mission and saved their paternal ancestor, so too, she’d complete hers. She wouldn’t let the fae down.

She trod out of the circle and climbed the stairs to the battlements, toward the one man who never veered far from her side.

Ahead, John pushed away from the thick stone crenellation and arms crossed, observed her. “What were you doing in the circle?”

“Seeking advice.” Only John, Archie and Mary knew the truth of how she and Marie had come to travel from the future here to the past. “I spoke to one of the fae.”

“You must take care. Even as the little folk guard Dunyvaig, they also tinker and play.”

She palmed the amulet at her neck. It’s silver surface glimmered in the moonlight.

“Tell me why you hold Mary’s talisman. ’Twas left in the circle for a reason.” With one finger under her chin, John lifted her gaze to his. “You can always speak to me.”

“I know.” Warmth from his gentle touch rolled through her. “The fae told me this amulet is now mine to hold and will provide safe passage as I return to my MacLean kin.”

“You were asked to travel to Duart Castle on the Isle of Mull?”

“Yes. I’ve been given a mission.”

“Nay, I’ll never allow you to step one foot on MacLean territory, mission or no’.” He pressed her against the stone wall at her back, enclosing her fully in his heat. “The danger is too great. Tell me exactly what the fae said.”

“That Marie and I are two halves of one whole, the beginning and the end. I’m to complete what my sister has set in motion. She also said to keep my warrior protector close. To bring peace, we must unite.” She pushed against him but he budged not an inch. “John, don’t go getting all muscly-man on me.”

“Shh, take care with your strange words. Voices can travel along the battlements and the other guards are close.” He eased one hand under her shoulders and the other behind her head, protecting her from the rough stone. “While Archie is away, you’re my responsibility. Traveling to Mull willnae happen on my watch. They’re the enemy.”

“Your enemy, not mine. I’m a MacLean, in case you forgot.” She wriggled her trapped hands free from between them and sighed. “The Chief of MacLean will father my paternal line, just as Mary MacDonald will give birth to my maternal one. I may be living in the past, but in truth, I’ve yet to be born. Even Mary wishes for peace between the clans.”

“Of which you’ve assured me does no’ happen for many years. If you attempt to bring about peace, then you’d be changing the future, something you and Marie are adamant against doing. Now enough of this talk of traveling to Mull. ’Tis late and you need your rest.” He tucked her under his shoulder and led her toward the stairs.

“The fae wouldn’t have asked me to travel to Duart Castle if I wasn’t supposed to.”

“Mayhap what the fae said is no’ all you believe. Consider their words well.” He called out to the guardsman in the gatehouse, “Lower the portcullis. Secure the keep for the night.”

The portcullis within the stone-arched entrance lowered, its clunky chains reverberating throughout the keep.

“I’m twenty-one, John. You can’t demand I go to bed just because that suits you.”

“I can and I did.”

He was so frustrating.

“You also don’t need to watch over me as intensely as you do.” In the past fortnight, she’d barely slept, her dreams always swirling with darkness and death. Her cries had woken John that first night and ever since, he’d slept in her room, watching over her. “I’m not a child.”

“I’m well aware.” He opened the door and motioned her into the great hall.

“I spoke to the fae about my nightmares.”

“You did?” He lifted one eyebrow. “And…”

“She said I no longer belonged to the future, but here in the past. Not much of an answer.”

“Well, I agree you belong here, although I wish you’d speak to me of what awakens you at night.”

“I’m sorry.” She shook her head. “Perhaps it’s my grief manifesting. I’m not sure. All I know is I miss them.”

“Your parents?”

“Yes.” Losing her mother to cancer a few short months ago had near broken her heart, as it had her sister’s, particularly when it had come so close on the heels of their father’s passing the year before. “Don’t you miss your parents?”

His father had died on the battlefield the year he’d turned eighteen, and his mother on the day she’d given birth to him and Archie. How awful. He’d never even gotten to know his own mother.

“I think of them constantly. ’Tis best to allow only the good memories to surface.” He guided her upstairs to the third floor, ushered her into her chamber and shut the door. Crouched before the hearth, he tore strips of bark from a log and brought a flame to life striking flint with his dagger. A fire soon blazed and spread its heat through the room. Hands dusted, he rose and crossed to the navy corner padded chair he’d slept in these past two weeks and plumped the pillow. With a deep sigh, he removed his sword belt, set it against the side of the chair then tucked a loose blue shirttail back into his black leather pants.

“I wish the nightmares would stop. I hate that I’m keeping you from your bed.”

“Until they cease, I’ll remain at your side. Do you need me to unlace your gown?”

“Yes, please.” She turned her back and he stepped in behind her. Holding the burgundy velvet bodice to her chest, she smiled over her shoulder at him. “In the future, one doesn’t need this kind of help when undressing.”

“Do you miss your men’s trews?” A teasing glint lit his eyes as he scooped her hair and slid it to one side.

“They’re called jeans, and in the twenty-first century, men and women both wear them, and yes, I do miss them.” She’d fallen through the veil in her favorite skinny jeans and quite shocked John when she’d removed her tartan red and blue woolen coat to uncover them. “It’s amazing to see how proficient you’re getting at this task, although sleeping in my chamber must be giving your single status a knock.”

“Single status? Another interesting term of yours.” Chuckling, his breath puffed warmly against her back as he exposed her skin. “All here are aware of your nightmares and that I must maintain a vigil at your bedside. Your good name remains intact.”

“My good name doesn’t worry me.”

“It should.” A frown furrowed his brow.

“Well, I didn’t mean it quite like that. It’s just I’m here in the past and I have to be so careful. I can’t take the risk of changing anyone’s future. That means I’m keeping my own single status.”

“Your sister happily changed Archie’s future by agreeing to be his wife.”

“Archie had already decreed he’d never join with another, and well before Marie had ever arrived. She changed nothing.”

“You wish to live your life without ever knowing love?” He loosened the last lacing.

“No, but I’m out of choices.” Bodice scrunched in her hands, she faced him. “Do you wish to marry one day?”

“Aye, I wish to wed, to find a wife who’ll give me strong sons and feisty daughters.”

“Have you ever courted a woman?” She toed off her silk slippers, nabbed her nightrail from her trunk and eased behind the silk dressing screen hand painted with a beautiful field of heather.

“Nay, and usually a man has to prove what he can offer when considering marriage, either by the strength of his sword arm, or by the lands he owns.”

“Do you have any land?” He certainly had a strong sword arm and she’d admired his fighting form often as he’d trained with his men. The man had muscles on top of muscles.

“A small parcel on Argyll adjacent to my brother’s. ’Twas land we received upon our father’s death. ’Tis no’ much, but there is a castle, even as rundown as it is.”

“Then why are you here and not there?” She shimmied out of her gown, tossed it over the top of the screen and donned her white cotton shift.

“The Isle of Islay is the land of my kin, and I’m still earning enough coin to effect adequate repairs on the castle. ’Twill be a beauty one day, solid and strong.”

“I’d love to see your land.”

“If you wish it, I will gladly take you. ’Tis but a short sail, except that any trip there would have to wait until the current threat from the MacLean clan eases.”

She walked out from behind the screen.

Lathering soap, James stood before the basin on the side table, his leather pants molding his tight butt and providing a delectable sight. He smeared bubbles along his jaw as he bent to the task.

Smiling, she crossed and lifted his shoulder-length brown locks wisped with blond. “My mother used to hold my father’s hair whenever he shaved. It saved getting suds in his hair. I’m not sure why, but he preferred the old hand razor over an electric shaver.”

“What’s an electric shaver?” His golden gaze met hers in the looking glass propped before him.

“It’s a device which plugs into a power source and when turned on, has sharp metal rotating heads that slice the stubble off at the root. No soap and blade is necessary.”

“Is this the power source you called elec-tri-city?” He twisted his tongue around the foreign word she’d mentioned a few nights ago when she’d explained how energy was contained and dispersed, how electricity brought heat and light into a room and how it powered devices big and small. She’d boggled his mind when she’d spoken of email, letters that could be sent with the press of one button to anyone in the world.

“That’s right.”

“Do you miss the conveniences of your time? Many sound miraculous.” He slid his dagger from ear to chin in one smooth move.

“Not yet, but I’m sure I will.” She leaned into his back and covered his hand holding the blade. “Can I try that?”

He stopped, one brow raised. “You wish to shave me?”

“I saw a maid doing so for one of the warriors yesterday in the great hall. Is it not the right thing to ask?”

“The warrior you’re speaking of is George. Three weeks past, he was hit by an arrow when Lachlan MacLean attacked Mary and Marie’s party as they returned to Dunyvaig from the village of Ardbeg. The arrow embedded deep into his side and he cannae yet lift his arm. The maid shaves him so he willnae tear his stitches.”