Surviving Scotland (2 page)

I gasped as I considered my surroundings. Gone were my bed, fireplace, sitting room, and home. Gone was the bustling city of London with its smoke and vile air. Gone was everything familiar. In its place was soft, loamy soil with emerald green grass, tall trees that pointed to the heavens, and colorful gentle heather that graced the meadow I had been sleeping in. Taking in a deep breath I realized belatedly that I could breathe easily, and I gazed down concerned at my lack of corset. Rather than wearing my usual attire, I was clothed in loose stays under a homespun shift. A patterned length of cloth draped over my shoulders. The blue and red plaid was woolen and warm, effectively eliminating the morning chill. I lifted my hands to touch my hair and found that it was still in a plait from the night before; at least I thought that it was the night before. I began to question my sanity.

The sound of beating hooves shook me from my stupor, and I stood and glanced about for a place to hide. As I ducked behind a tree that was covered with ample brush, I peeked through the twisted branches to see who approached. Three men dismounted and began speaking in thick Scottish brogues. The tallest one began to search the edge of the meadow and quickly spotted me. I was captivated by his dark, wavy hair, which was accented by tanned skin. But what held my attention were his legs; they were bare. He wore a type of skirt — a kilt actually. I had read about them, but hadn’t realized they would have left so much of a man’s legs exposed. I couldn’t tear my eyes away. Tall socks covered his calves and were tied up with thin pieces of leather that matched his boots. His torso was covered with a homespun shirt that opened at the chest. The rest of his kilt, or perhaps it was a tartan, was wrapped around his chest at an angle. As my gaze lifted to his face, I noticed he was staring at me.

From a distance, I noticed the shocking green color of his eyes, like moss. He met my gaze, and though I knew I should be frightened, I wasn’t. Belatedly, my memory reminded me that being a lone Englishwoman stranded in Scotland wasn’t a good thing. Thankfully all the years of having a Scottish nanny had given me an authentic brogue, though I was told never to speak in it back home. Without any other option, I prepared to act the part of highland lass. I swallowed and waited, but he didn’t speak to me; he just stared.

“Elle?” he asked, confusion and recognition warring for control of his handsome face. At the sound of my name, my mouth dropped open in shock. How could he know my name? Maybe I hadn’t woken up after all; maybe I was still dreaming. Quickly I reached down to pinch myself, wincing at the pain. I was very much awake.

“Are ye hurt, lass?” Concern was evident in his voice. He gracefully loped over to where I was still trying to hide.

“Oh, for the love o’ St. John, lass were ye climbin’ again?” He asked in an exasperated tone that caused my temper to flair. “Aren’t ye a little old for those shenanigans?” His hands were on his hips in a scolding fashion. His familiar manner with me, accompanied by his condescending scold, left me speechless.

“What? Did ye addle yer brains, lass? Fall on yer head this time?” He joked, implying that I had done something like this before. His eyes crinkled at the edges and his grin exposed white, straight teeth. When his grin began to fade, I noticed the fullness of his lips and the strength of his jaw.

“No,” I answered, drawing out the word unnaturally long.

“She speaks!” he teased and I narrowed my eyes at him.

“Aye, I speak, now leave me alone — er — be.” I wanted to ask who he was, how he knew my name, but I wasn’t sure if it was wise. Clearly he had either mistaken me for someone else, or I had more than addled my wits. Maybe I had fallen out of a tree. Lord knows, I had climbed my share before heading to London to be my grandmother’s companion.

After brushing the imaginary wrinkles from my dress, I glanced around, then back at the man with the unsettling green gaze. He watched me intently, no doubt beginning to question if I was indeed the Elle he thought. But then his eyes dipped lower to my chest and hips.

My face heated with embarrassment and anger, as well as a spark of fear, as he unabashedly appraised me.

“Do ye mind?”Anger laced my tone. There was no way I was going to let him think I was
that
type of woman. I didn’t need any more trouble than I was already in. His eyes snapped back to mine in understanding, and rather than give me a rakish smolder, he had the good sense to look embarrassed.

“Much better.” I nodded, trying to keep control of the conversation. If there was one thing I had learned from fencing, stay on the offense.

“Uh, Elle — I — well I didn’t mean ta…” He trailed off, as if uncertain how to proceed. The hesitation caught me off guard. His powerful stance, clear gaze, and confident air weren’t one to feel insecurity or confusion in any situation.

“‘Tis just that… well… ye’ve grown up.” He spoke with a tender tone that was edged with an underlying emotion.

“Nasty habit, that,” I returned, trying to keep the tone of the conversation light.

“But I see ye havna lost yer sharp tongue,” he added with a smile.

“I need it for the likes of you.” I placed my hand on my hip and I couldn’t help but think what the
ton
would think of me now. The thought brought a smile to my face.

“Ah, ye’re still a tease as ye always were. ‘Tis good ye havna changed into one of those simperin’ lasses.”

“Yes, well.” Not sure as to what to say or do, I figured I’d somehow extract myself from the conversation.
And then what?
I didn’t know.

“Ye best be off now, I’ll be headin’ home, too.” I offered him a bright smile, but he chuckled and shook his head in amusement.

“Well, then lass, I’ll just take ye home. ‘Tis no use ye walking, when I’ve got a nice horse over there.”

My blood ran cold.
What did you just say?
“No.” I responded quickly, too quickly. “Thank you, but I don’t want you to go out of your way.” Fear was creeping in, and I was running out of ideas. My brogue slipped into more of a sluggish English, and he raised his eyebrow but didn’t comment.

“Lass, did ye fall? Truly? Or do ye no’ recognize me? I’m Ioan, Ioan Campbell. True, ‘tis been about four years, but I havna changed that much, have I?” His expression was hurt. Just what was going on? Perhaps I just looked like another woman he remembered. But then why would he know my name? It was so confusing. Yet at his sober expression my fears subsided slightly in knowing he’d likely not cause me harm, if he was so severely concerned I didn’t recognize him. He watched me, waiting for an answer.
Well, I best be honest
.
Grandma had always stressed honesty.

Better to be honest than have to spend all your time remembering your lies.

“I, well…” I didn’t know what to say. I wanted to be honest, but the truth wouldn’t do me any favors either. The two other men were watching the whole conversation with silent, unabashed interest. “I…” Trying again, I regarded Ioan’s expression. His teasing grin had faded into a piercing intensity as his attention shifted to the forest behind me.

“Lass, walk behind me,” he whispered and for some reason, against my instinct, I refused.

“No.”

His eyes widened at my immediate refusal. “Elle, behind me, now.” The command came with an authority that said he was accustomed to giving orders, more importantly, used to them being obeyed.

“No.”

And because I sensed the danger just like he had, I began to run. A strong arm reached around and swept me onto a saddle.

Expelling a large breath at the sheer force with which I hit the poor horse, I grasped for a way to see my captor.

Ioan

At least it was he, and not some other random highlander. At least he knew my name.

“Ye’ll be the death o’ me yet, lass. Havna changed a bit, have ye? Still a royal pain in me hind end,” he ground out as he held onto me, protecting me with his body as we rode across the meadow into the trees. Clouds had darkened the sky and begun to release rain. The moisture ran down my head and into my eyes. I tried to swipe it away, but Ioan’s hold on me was strong, and I couldn’t move. I glanced back to give him a furious glare. As I wiggled to try and gain some freedom to at least sit up, he held me tighter. Yet, rather than feel smothered, a stirring heat grew inside of me. Strong, muscular arms held me firm against a solid chest that radiated heat. The scent of rain and peppermint clung to his clothes, and I inhaled, unaware of what I was doing. He stiffened as if realizing my thoughts, and I froze. Gazing up at him over my shoulder, I met his darkened gaze. Uncertain of what to read in his expression, I tried to control mine into the polite indifference the British were known for, but failed. He glanced down at my lips. In a nervous reaction, I licked them. He closed his eyes and broke the spell.

“Ye will be the death o’ me, just maybe no’ in the way I originally tho’, lass.” he whispered huskily. I widened my eyes at his words and their implication. Who was this man? Who was I supposed to be? And how could someone I didn’t know create such a stir of emotion within me? It scared me more than waking up in Scotland.
This is
Scotland…
right?

He rode hard through the trees, casting glances behind as if to check for pursuers. As one of the other men approached, he slowed.

“Cullon? Are we bein’ followed?”

“No, ‘tis clear.”

“Good.” Ioan’s voice rumbled. I glanced to the other man now riding next to Ioan. His light hair and fairer skin were the opposite of Ioan’s features. As if sensing my perusal, he winked.

“Cullon,” Ioan warned. Cullon grinned but turned his attention to the road. The sound of another set of hooves let me know the second man had joined up with the group.

As we made our way down the rough road, I began to shiver as the cool air seeped through my rain soaked dress. Ioan huddled me close, but he was just as soaked as I.

The horses’ pace slowed as we approached a tall wooden gate. It blocked the entrance to a walled pavilion that protected a large stone castle. The structure was high and wide with narrow windows. It appeared to need some repairs due to a few stones missing from one of the keep towers.

“Carnasserie Castle,” Ioan whispered with reverence.

The grey and looming mass seemed forbidding, but Ioan seemed to find peace in simply seeing it. His body relaxed and his breathing eased. As we passed through the large wooden gate, hoofbeats pounded on the cobbled stone path, their echoing sound reverberating within the courtyard. People bustled about. Children scattered as mothers shooed them into hallways. Men grabbed horses and gave wary glances at the newcomers then relaxed, giving surprised nods of recognition toward Ioan. It all left me stunned, as I huddled next to Ioan on his grey mount.

“What happened?” I asked, dazed.

“That was me savin’ yer life,” Ioan retorted crisply. “What were ye thinkin’, Elle? They could have captured ye! Then what would we have done? Here I tho’ ye had grown up. Maybe, just maybe, learned at least a bit o’ sense and—”

He stopped speaking, dismounted, and pulled me down with him before stomping away, leaving me curious and confused. I watched his retreating form as the men welcomed him with forceful slaps on the back and a type of handshake. As he nodded to an older man, he glanced back at me for a moment. He exhaled forcefully, his shoulders sagging with the effort, before he shook his head and stomped back to where I stood.

“Are ye daft, woman? Why are ye standing there? Go on inside.” He gave me a playful shove in the direction of a door. I didn’t know where it led, but I was about to find out. Hopefully it led to a warm bath and dry dress. I gave Ioan one last glance as I pushed on the heavy wooden door. He was watching me with those disconcerting green eyes. His expression was a perfect mix of concern and intrigue. Unable to offer an answer to the question on his face, I offered him a small smile before I entered the castle.

“Elle! Where were ye, child? We’ve been lookin’ fer ye fer hours now! A plump woman scolded me with a shake of her head. “Ta think, ye runnin’ off, when ye knew the Jacobites were hunkered down in the wood.

She pointed to the stairs with a stern expression and I obeyed, careful not to slip on the worn stone steps. She didn’t follow me, so once I reached the top I had no idea where I was to go next. The long hallway had many wooden doors, none of which were open. A small window to my right offered a view of the courtyard, and I walked over. I gazed outside, yet saw nothing as my mind spun in a million different directions. Part of me wanted to run away, back to the heather-filled meadow and somehow make it back to my home, but another part of me wanted adventure. The bustling streets of London had never been home. I had few friends, and the constant pressure of being a perfect lady wore on me more than I cared to admit. To be truthful, the only reason I stayed in London was for my grandmother, and she had somehow sent me here. I closed my eyes as I thought about what to do next. I had two options: run away and most likely get caught by some barbarian, or stay and pretend I belonged. Neither option seemed like it would work, but pretending held more promise than being kidnapped. What I needed was information. Who was I supposed to be? I pieced together the little fragments of my past few hours. My name was still Elle. I was in Scotland somewhere and it didn’t seem like Gretna Green, or at least the Gretna Green I had heard of. People knew me, and I had nearly been kidnapped by Jacobites? Is that who had chased Ioan and me? My mind whirled as I thought about the familiar-sounding name.
Jacobites!
My blood chilled as I realized that I wasn’t just in Scotland. I was in the post-Renaissance era of Scotland. Was this what my grandmother was referring to in her letter? Was this why, so many years ago, she asked me what I knew of Medieval Scotland? But this was far later than the Medieval time, could she have misunderstood? As I thought over her words, the absurdity of the whole idea caused a hysterical giggle to bubble from my lips. How could she have known? She armed me with the knowledge she knew I ‘d need, to the best of her ability. And here I was. The world spun around me and I grasped onto the windowsill for support. Shivers overtook my body once more.