The Highlander's Vow (Loch Moigh #4) (11 page)

Struan’s eyes sought hers, and the disquiet, the deep fear she sensed caused a lump to rise in her throat. She wanted to put her arms around him, comfort him, but ’twas not her place.

“
You
are from the past as well?” Conner frowned. “Why did you not say so when you called?”

Struan shook his head, his expression dazed. “It didn’t seem relevant at the time.”

“Sit, laddie,” Connor commanded, pulling out a chair. “You look about to drop. Michael, fetch your brother’s whiskey for him, and bring ours as well, if you would.”

“Sure.” Michael scurried off toward the living room.

“I’ll have your tale before we leave, boyo.” Connor shot Struan a determined look. “I noticed the building behind the house.
You’re
Sutherland Forge, I take it?”

Struan nodded.

Connor slapped Struan’s shoulder, sending him pitching forward in his chair. “I’ve a few of your swords. Ordered them online, I did, and fine weapons they are, too. Do you wield a blade as well as you forge one, I wonder?”

Struan recovered himself, and rubbed his forehead as if it pained him. “Well enough.”

“We’ll have a go to test your mettle before my wife and I leave.”

Struan’s eyes narrowed, and Sky sensed the mixture of anticipation and dread coursing through him. Why dread? He engaged in swordplay for the fairs, and she’d seen the lists with the quintain behind the Gordons’ house. Surely training with Connor was no cause for concern.

Michael returned with his hands full of glasses, and Sky helped him get the drinks to their rightful owners. Then she took a seat and pointed to a place on the map of Scotland. A dozen dots were so close in proximity they nearly formed an island of red. “This is very near Castle Kildrummy. ’Tis certain this is the clearing in the wood where I came through. If there are so many stories, surely the Erskines ken the tales well enough.”

“Aye. Most likely.” Connor pulled out a chair and sat. He thrummed with excitement. “There are two kinds of time travel stories. Those in which a mortal has come into contact with one of the
Tuatha Dé Danann
and disappeared, and those in which no contact took place. In the latter, some hapless soul stumbled across a spot where a portal opened, and they were taken to a different place and time.

“Katherine and I have searched for some kind of pattern, maybe a specific time of year when the occurrences happened, but we can’t find any rhyme or reason for when a passageway opens or closes.” He looked around the table at each of them.

“In my case, I followed one of the ancient ones through time. In your mother’s case, Sky, she was sent to the past by Madame Giselle, who also provided Robley with the means to travel back and forth at will with the use of uncut diamonds.” His eyes met hers. “I suspect you happened upon one of the gates just as it opened, as did you, Struan.”

“Madame Giselle was responsible for sending my brother to the fair where you and your daughter were putting on an exhibition,” Sky added. “She chose Meghan for Hunter, because of her strength and her fighting skills.”

“I had wondered, and now I know for certain.” Connor’s expression hardened for a moment. “We know the fae travel through time, and to do so, they open these . . . corridors through the centuries. We believe a number of their passageways have been abandoned or forgotten. They’ve been left in an active state, and unfortunately, the unsuspecting wander right into them.”

“Are there any of these dot clusters in the US?” Michael asked.

“I couldn’t say. We haven’t been able to find any stories here involving sudden disappearances, appearances or reappearances other than those involving Sky’s kin, and they are fairly recent. It’s entirely possible that the people who are indigenous to this land have legends of such, but the stories have most likely been lost. We couldn’t find anything on the Internet, in books of folklore or any hint of such in our visits to museums and history centers.”

Sky’s heart stuttered. The implications were overwhelming. “You believe I can go back, don’t you?”

“I do.” Connor tensed. “What’s more, I believe anyone can travel back and forth once they discover the key to when the portals open and close.” He glanced at his wife. “We hoped to find a way to bring our daughter back home. That’s why we began the research. Robley told us that Madame Giselle instructed him to keep his heart and mind fixed upon the time and place he wished to go, and that doing so would get him there.”

“Och, but it didn’t,” Sky cried. “Not exactly. Robley meant to arrive on the exact day my mother left, and at the exact same fair in New York where she worked. Instead, he landed in Minnesota and at a different fair.”

“Aye, but he said he believed your mother’s birthplace was also fixed in his mind, since she’d told him so many stories about her life there.” Connor shook his head. “Until now, we had no idea what time or place our girl had been taken to. Thanks to you, now we know.”

Katherine tossed back her whiskey in a single gulp and slammed the tumbler down on the table. “When you go back, Sky, we’re going with you.”

“What?” Struan shot up from his chair. “Are you crazy?”

“Nay, you canna risk such a thing.” Sky looked from Connor to Katherine. “Your son’s in Minnesota. You have grandchildren here, and extended family. What of your fencing club?”

“You can’t go back alone, Sky. If your betrothed suspects you know of his plans, you’ll be in danger.” Connor’s jaw tightened. “If you are to prevent a clan war, you must try to return to the very spot and time from which you left, but as you pointed out with Robley’s case, you can’t count on ending up exactly when and where you wish. We can only hope to get to your kin before they fall into the earl of Mar’s clutches. If possible, we need to go back to the moments
before
you disappeared to avert disaster altogether.

“Should something go wrong, you’ll need protection, which is where I come in.” Connor reached for his wife’s hand. “I will guard you, and in exchange, you will take us to our daughter. We’ll bring the maps with us, and if we cannot locate Madame Giselle to beg her aid in returning home, then we’ll seek another portal and camp there until the way opens.”

“I wanna go too,” Michael cried. “This would be the adventure of a lifetime.”

“Absolutely not, Michael,” Struan shouted. “What the hell are you all thinking?” He glared. “There are no guarantees that you’ll be able to go where you want to go, much less that you’d be able to return. I won’t allow it.”

“In my time, I was heir to a chiefdom, laddie, and you’ll not be telling me what I can and cannot do.” Connor glared back.

“I meant that for my brother,” Struan gritted out. His chest worked like the bellows in his fire pit, as if breathing had become a struggle, and the muscles at his clenched jaw twitched.

Struan growled deep in his throat, strode to the patio doors, shoved open the screening and stomped out.

Sensing the internal battle waging within him, Sky started after him. Surely he realized his parents would never allow Michael to go anywhere. So what had stirred him into such a state?

“Don’t, Sky,” Michael warned. “When Struan gets like this, we’ve all learned it’s best to leave him alone until he’s cooled down and worked things out for himself.” His phone chimed from his back pocket. Michael pulled it out and checked his text messages. “Mom says it’s time to head home for dinner. Dad’s grilling.” He grinned the grin of a hungry adolescent. “He’s a gourmet griller.”

She and the McGladreys followed Michael out the front door and down Struan’s driveway. Katherine walked beside her. “We’ll talk more about our plans tomorrow morning, Sky. There are things we must do to prepare, and we brought along a few things for you to help the process along.”

“Aye, we’ll talk tomorrow. Will you stay the night in Struan’s camper?”

“Perhaps, if we’re still welcome. If not, we’ll find a nearby hotel.”

“Och, I dinna believe Struan to be the kind of man to rescind his welcome,” Sky said. “My sudden appearance in his life has been difficult for him, and I’m sure the thought of his brother’s wish to accompany us was too much for him to bear. Like Michael said, once he’s worked things out for himself, I’m sure he’ll be fine.”

Katherine’s expression smoothed. “I’m sure you’re right.”

All the way to the Gordons’, Sky scanned the valley for any sign of Struan. Mayhap he walked through the forest, hidden from her view. She still longed to comfort him, and ’twas difficult to keep from setting out to find him.

Gene was outside his garage with his grill as the four of them walked up the driveway.

“Glad you could stay for supper,” he greeted them, waving a pair of tongs in the air.

“Thank you for inviting us.” Connor put his arm around Katherine’s shoulders. “I’m afraid we’ve upset Struan. He took off on foot.”

“Oh?” Gene looked to Michael, who launched into a brief description of what had transpired.

“Ah, well, you’re not going anywhere, son, so don’t even think about it.”

“I know, Dad. I was just saying it would be the experience of a lifetime. Epic.”

“You know what would really be
epic
?” Gene flashed a pointed look Michael’s way. “Seeing you graduate from high school next spring, and then packing you off to college to get a four-year degree. Now that would be the experience of a lifetime, for your mother and me, anyway.”

Michael let out a purely put-upon groan and skulked off into the house.

Gene turned to the McGladreys. “These steaks will be done in a few minutes. Go on in. It’s just us tonight. Lindsay is out with friends, and Ethan and his family had plans for the evening.”

All through supper, Sky watched the door, hoping Struan would return. He didn’t, and concern for him gnawed at her like a hound with a bone.

“Do you know of a hotel nearby where we might stay the night?” Katherine asked.

Marjorie waved their request away. “You’re not staying at a hotel. We have room here, and you’re welcome to stay.”

“We don’t wish to trouble you.” Connor leaned back in his chair. “Struan offered us the use of his trailer, but . . . after the way we upset him, my wife and I think it would be best if we stayed in town.”

“Oh.” Marjorie’s eyes clouded with concern. “Struan can sometimes be a bit reactive, but he’ll be himself again once he’s had time to work through whatever’s bothering him. If you’d prefer to stay in town, there’s the Inn at Gristmill Square. It’s a lovely historic bed-and-breakfast.” She slid her chair back and rose from her place. “The owners are good friends of ours. Let me give them a call and see if they have a room open.”

Marjorie left the kitchen to make the call, and Sky began to clear the table. “If you will teach me how to put the dishes in yon contraption, Gene, I’d like to clean up this eve.”

“I’ll help.” Katherine joined her. “Gene, you sit and keep my husband company. I can show Sky how to load the dishwasher.”

She and Katherine worked side by side and made quick work of cleaning the Gordons’ kitchen. All the while Sky’s mind went over the day’s happenings, especially Struan’s kiss. Where was he, and what had upset him so? Was it the daunting realization that traveling through the centuries at will might be possible? Mayhap like her, he both feared and longed to go back to prevent the disaster befalling his father and clan. That would explain his sudden burst of anger, followed by his equally sudden departure. After all, he believed her presence in his life signaled the approaching end of his. He had naught to fear. She would not allow him to leave his valley or his family.

CHAPTER EIGHT

S
truan strode through the woods, kicking at anything in his path. He’d been tromping for at least an hour, ever since his abrupt departure from his kitchen, leaving the McGladreys, Sky and his brother behind. Yet, he still hadn’t regained control over himself. His life had been perfect, dammit. He’d been happy, content. And then
she
had to fall into his path, churning up the past and unsettling his equilibrium.

Oh, he’d known. Two minutes after his tirade, he’d known his tantrum had nothing to do with his brother’s ridiculous declaration about going to the fifteenth century. Nope. His parents would never allow Michael to go anywhere. His fit had been entirely “Sky centered,” and that just made no sense at all. In fact, his reaction made him all the angrier.

For God’s sake, he’d chased her down on horseback today—like some medieval hunter in hot pursuit of his next meal. Worse, he’d snatched her from her horse and kissed her like some hormone-driven madman, his raging hard-on poking into her sweet rounded derrière.

He groaned and scrubbed his face with both hands, hoping to wipe out the images behind his eyes. What must she think of him? What the hell had he been thinking?

Who was he kidding? There hadn’t been any thinking at all, and that was the problem. His hands fisted, Struan dropped them to his sides. He didn’t need this entanglement. He didn’t
want
to want her. He should be leaping for joy that the McGladreys were going to take her off his hands. So . . . why wasn’t he leaping for joy? Why did he feel as if something deep inside was being ripped asunder?

His stomach grumbled with hunger. Also
her
fault. If it weren’t for Sky Elizabeth, the eldest daughter of the earl of Fife, he’d be sitting at his ma’s table right now, enjoying a hearty meal with his family, instead of tromping through the woods by himself.

He stopped walking and stared at the pine needles cushioning the path beneath his feet. Hadn’t it been just this morning that he’d convinced himself Sky would be better off staying in Gordon Hollow, making him and the Gordons her kin and clan? Now he couldn’t be rid of her fast enough. He should probably sort through his feelings.

One thing was certain: he did
not
like this roiling ache in his gut or the all-consuming need to hold Sky in his arms. He didn’t like the way she wreaked havoc on his peace of mind and threatened his perfect life with her tale of treachery and woe. If she was stupid enough to go back to that dung heap of trouble awaiting her in the fifteenth century, so be it. Not. His. Problem.

“Dammit, dammit, dammit,” he shouted, throwing his head back to glare at the canopy of pine boughs overhead. Then he shook himself, turned around and started back down the path toward home. He’d make a sandwich, open a bag of chips, some salsa and have a few beers while sitting in front of his TV.

If Connor and his wife showed up for the camper, he’d get them all hooked up, show them where the guest bathroom was located, and once they were settled, he’d hide out in his basement rec room with his food and his bad mood.

By the time his place came into view, the McGladreys were walking up his drive toward their car. A part of him wanted to hide until they were gone. Another part, the more mature portion, suffered a twinge of embarrassment at his childish outburst. Striding out of the forest, he waved and called out to them to wait as he jogged toward them.

“Are you leaving?” he asked. Dumb question. Obviously they were leaving, since the two of them were about to climb into the sedan.

“We are.” Connor rested his forearms on the top of the open door. “Marjorie was able to find a room for us at a B&B near town.”

Struan gestured toward his camper. “You don’t have to leave. My camper is—”

“Listen, boyo, I understand why you reacted the way you did, but we didn’t come here to upset you. We came to help
Sky
, and because her presence here means there’s a slim possibility we might see our daughter again.” Connor fixed him with a hard stare. “Rest assured, we will not be takin’ young Michael with us.”

“I know.” Could he feel any smaller? “I apologize for making you feel unwelcome. I . . . all this has stirred up a lot of—”

“The Gordons told us a little about your history during dinner.” Connor and Katherine shared another one of those annoying
we’re sharing something you don’t know
looks. “I carry unpleasant memories as well, as does Sky. You’re not the first or the only to suffer being ripped from your life and time, and this isn’t about you.”

Ouch.
Is that what they thought? Did they believe he suffered grief for having come through time to a life that was a hundred and fifty percent better than the one he’d left behind?

Connor continued to glare. “Sky wants to do right by her kin, and we mean to help her in any way we’re able.”

“I want to help her too.”

“Good.” Connor grinned, a wicked glint lighting his eyes. “I’ll meet you in the lists tomorrow morning at the crack of dawn. If I’m to go back to the fifteenth century, it’s best I keep my combat skills in peak form.”

Me and my big mouth.
Struan nodded. “Did you bring equipment, or do I need to loan you some of mine?”

“I’ll need a broadsword and a buckler shield.” He climbed into the car. “We’ll talk more tomorrow morning. Sky is going to need some practical help on your end. My wife and I need to prepare for our time away from home. That will take us a week or so. Until tomorrow.” Connor shut the door and started the car.

Struan swallowed against the hollow ache rising up in a choke hold around his throat. He was being propelled in a direction he didn’t want to go, and the only way he could rebel was by digging in his heels deeper into the here and now. The McGladreys’ car wended its way along the road out of Gordon Hollow, and Struan stood still until he couldn’t see them anymore. Finally, he turned to head into his empty house, his appetite gone.

Struan reached out and hit the button on his buzzing alarm clock. Only 5:00 a.m., too early to be up. Yawning, he got up, reached for the sweatpants at the end of his bed and pulled them on. He stretched, walked to his dresser and chose a T-shirt from a drawer. The coffeemaker in his kitchen gurgled away, filling the glass carafe on the burner. As he tugged on the T-shirt, he inhaled the smell of fresh coffee.

Athletic shoes or leather boots? He stared into his closet while trying to decide which would be best for his bout with Connor. Even with blunted blades, accidents happened. He stuffed his sock-covered feet into a pair of leather boots that reached his knees. Yawning again, he made his way to the kitchen for a much-needed mug of coffee. He took a few fortifying sips before heading downstairs to gather the gear they would need.

His
armory
was located in a windowless storage room behind his laundry facilities. He shivered, no doubt his body’s reaction to getting up way too early after a mostly sleepless night. He hadn’t done this early morning routine since the days he’d trained with his father and his half brothers. When he trained with Andrew or Michael, they usually did so in the afternoon after the forge had been shut down for the day.

Struan opened the door to the walk-in closet and flipped the switch for the overhead lights. He surveyed his inventory: poleax, war club, a few swords and shields in various sizes. Why did he stock an armory, anyway? Was it a holdover from his life in the fourteenth century, or had he been preparing for some unforeseen primitive twenty-first-century enemy? Did he think the Society for Creative Anachronism would one day rise up and take over the world? They
had
already demarcated their realms and chosen their kings and queens, after all.

Funny. Everything he’d stored in the room had to do with medieval warfare, yet he had no desire to return to the past. Connor had volunteered to go with Sky to her century. He would protect her. Right. One old man protecting two females against an entire Erskine garrison.
That
would turn out well. Guns. Cannons and matchlock rifles were in existence back then. McGladrey should forget about fighting fair, upsetting the time continuum and all that, and just bring a couple of modern-day handguns and a shitload of ammo. Done.

He huffed out a guilt-laden breath and selected his very best leather brigandine, rather than a heavier chain mail haubergeon. He wanted to protect his back and chest—just in case Connor became a little too enthusiastic in his efforts to slice and dice his sorry hide. Next he chose two broadswords with leather-wrapped grips, nicely rounded pommels and broad cross guards—fashioned by his own hand, of course. The blades on the swords were as yet unsharpened, and if he had his way, they’d never need a cutting edge. Finally he picked out two buckler shields.

With his gear in his arms, he returned to his kitchen and dumped the load on the table with a clatter. He hadn’t eaten since lunchtime yesterday, and he couldn’t train on an empty stomach. He fixed himself a big bowl of oatmeal in the microwave, adding brown sugar, mashed banana and milk. While he ate his meal, he mentally went over the art of swordsmanship.

Be the first to strike, lad, and whilst you’re about it, hit fast and hard. Attack where your opponent’s weapon just moved away from. Remember, where your head goes, the rest of you will follow.
His father’s litany echoed through his skull, until Connor pulled into his driveway. Struan shoveled the last spoonful of his breakfast into his mouth and shot up. He put his bowl in the sink, grabbed the gear and headed out the front door.

“Good morning,” Connor called out as he stretched out his hamstrings. “Are you ready to be bested by a master?”

“Humph.” Struan walked down the front steps. He handed a sword and shield to Connor. “Drive, or walk to the field?”

“We’ll be jogging.” Connor wore cutoff sweats, a T-shirt and athletic shoes, of course.

“Do you want to borrow a hauberk, or—”

“No need. You’ll not be getting close enough to touch me.”

Struan rolled his eyes. The guy had to be in his fifties, while
he
was in his twenties. Who did Connor think he was kidding? Struan slid the heavy steel-enforced leather brigandine over his T-shirt and fastened the laces. “Let’s go,
old man
. I have work to do today.”

Connor barked out a laugh and jogged down the driveway with the borrowed sword gripped in his right hand and the shield in his left. Struan followed. He was in decent shape, though he trained sporadically, but he didn’t jog on a regular basis.

He glanced at Connor. The old guy seemed unaffected, while Struan already huffed and puffed. Great. Good thing the field behind the Gordons’ place wasn’t too far away. A mile at best, unless they crossed through a field. Might be a good idea to do something to improve his stamina.

By the time they reached the training field, Struan was gasping for breath and sweat dripped down his face. Leaning over with his palms on his knees, he glanced at Connor, who still breathed easily and had hardly broken a sweat. Struan straightened. Of course,
he
wore a heavy piece of protective equipment, while Connor wore only a T-shirt. That had to make a difference. Right?

Connor assumed a battle-ready pose. “I’ll be needin’ a shield like this one when I go. I haven’t bothered with such for years, since swordplay in this time is for show and not to kill.” He hefted the small shield. “They are effective at disabling an enemy’s sword arm, after all. Come hither, boyo. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

His father’s lessons echoed through Struan’s mind: space and time, stance, hold the shield so it faces your opponent, cut and thrust. Connor beat him to the offensive, shortening the distance between them. He brought his sword down fast and hard, and Struan barely managed to block him. Connor then let loose a flurry of strikes and thrusts, driving Struan back. He defended himself as best he could, but turning the tide so he could take the offensive wasn’t happening. They’d just begun, and already he was exhausted.

The one-sided battle raged on and on until his muscles burned and begged for mercy. Sweat poured down his face and into his eyes, causing a stinging blur, and he was forced to readjust his opinion about Connor’s abilities.