The Highlander's Vow (Loch Moigh #4) (6 page)

“Oh, of course.” She fished around in her bag. “I couldn’t let her wear it strapped to her calf while she tried on clothes, you see,” Marjorie said, aiming her comments at her husband. “So I kept the blade sheathed and in my purse.”

She handed Sky her wee dagger just as Michael opened the door of the camper and started down the stairs. “Wow, Sky. Looking good.” He grinned. “I like your new outfit.”

“You are most kind, Michael,” she said, tucking the dagger into the waist of her capris. She turned back to the truck and grabbed a few of the bags holding the day’s purchases.

“Let me help you with those,” Struan said.

His deep voice startled her. “If you wish,” she muttered. He stood so close, his warmth touched her skin. And his scent, uniquely masculine and delectable, filled her senses. Her heart took flight. His hands touched hers as he took the bags, and a shock arced through her, heating her blood. Their eyes met and held for a moment, until once again his disquiet hit her full force.

“My thanks.” She clasped her hands together, embarrassment singeing her from within.

“Michael, get the rest would you? Ma has groceries in the back,” Struan called.

Sky followed Struan into the camper. He set the bags down on the table. “Want a beer or a glass of wine, Sky? We’re going to eat soon.”

“Aye, wine would be most welcome.” ’Twould also help calm her nerves. She opened the closet door, found her gown and ran her fingers along the hem until she located one of the hidden coins. Her ma always said women needed to be prepared for anything. You never knew when you might find yourself in a circumstance where you’d need coin to stay at an inn or send word home for help. Carefully, Sky picked at the threads with her
sgian dubh
.

“What are you doing?” Struan approached, his brow furrowed.

“You’ll see.” Sky drew out a coin, straightened and handed it to him. “Here, I trow this will cover what I owe for the garments Marjorie and I purchased.” She met his gaze. “I dinna wish to be indebted to you, Struan. Despite what you might believe, ’tis no fault of mine that I landed in the midst of your life or the Gordons’. I am no more content than you about my intrusion, and I mean to find a way home. In the meantime, I canna deny that I need your help.”

The furrow between his brows deepened, and his mouth tightened. He glared at the gold in his palm as if it offended him.

“If you would be so kind, help me find a way to reach Minnesota, and then—”

“I’ll do no such thing,” he snapped, looking as shocked as she at his outburst.

“Hey, what’s going on?” Michael entered the camper, his arms full of the foodstuffs Marjorie had bought for their supper. Concern shadowed his features as he looked from her to Struan and then back again.

“Nothing.” Struan’s eyes bored into hers, his roiling emotions far too numerous for her to decipher. “There’s a glass of wine on the counter for you, princess. Dinner will be ready soon.” With that he turned abruptly and strode out of the camper.

Sky blinked against the sting in her eyes. “I dinna understand him. He’s no’ at all like my father, uncles or brothers. Nor is he at all like the Sutherlands I call kin.”

“Aw, now . . . don’t let Struan upset you,” Michael pleaded, setting the bags down on the counter. “I think he’s just all stirred up about the past right now. The day he came to us, his dad lay dying right beside him. Your appearance is probably a painful reminder. It’s not you, Sky. Don’t let him make you feel unwelcome.”

“Think you that’s why he resents me so?”

“Uh . . . Hmm. Can’t really say.” He gave her an awkward hug. “It’s a bitch, isn’t it?”

She couldn’t help smiling at the open, utterly good-hearted lad. “Of what do you speak, lad?”

“Being able to sense what others feel about you.” His face colored.

“Oh.” She studied him, sensing his gifts. “Aye, ’tis oft a
bitch
, but just as oft a blessing.”

“Not when it comes to girls,” he muttered.

“Och, Michael. You’re a comely lad, and soon enough you’ll grow into those long legs and arms. You’ll fill out, and the lasses will swoon at your feet.”

“You really think so?”

“Aye. Dinna doubt it.” She patted his cheek, warmth for the lad who reminded her so much of her brothers filling her heart.

CHAPTER FOUR

T
he Monday morning sun had just begun its ascent, painting the eastern horizon in orange, soft pinks and varying shades of deep blue. Dew covered the grass of their campsite, and already the soles and sides of Struan’s leather boots were damp. He paused for a moment to watch the sunrise, glad to be alive and in the moment.

He opened the storage compartment at the front of the horse trailer and hefted his saddle into its place. Then he loaded Michael’s saddle and their tack. He couldn’t wait to hit the road. He had orders waiting to be filled, and he was never happier or more content than when he worked in his forge.

He grunted. Contentment would not come so easily now that Sky had fallen into his life. Why had he snapped at her last evening, refusing her request to help her get to the McGladreys? It would be far easier and better for his peace of mind to hand her off to them. Struan could wash his hands of her, and passing her to the McGladreys made sense. Didn’t it? She was related to them by marriage, after all.

Ah, but she was also related to him by marriage. Struan’s sire had been the fourth earl of Sutherland, and Sky’s aunt was wed to the sixth. Plus, Sky had appeared in
his
path, not Connor McGladrey’s, and that had to mean something. Her fate and his were somehow inextricably tied. No matter what, he couldn’t escape whatever fate Sky brought to him until he knew what it held. Only then could he take evasive action.

Once he figured out which direction he needed to turn, he’d pat Sky on the head and send her wherever it was she wanted to go. Why did that thought twist his gut into a tight knot? Some remnant of his father’s lessons on chivalry, honor and responsibility, no doubt.

“Where has everyone gone?”

Struan’s heart kicked against his ribcage at the sound of her voice, as if she’d caught him in the act of . . . something. Could she sense his thoughts about her? “Good morning to you, too.” He glanced at Sky over his shoulder. “They’re gassing up the trucks and checking the air pressure in the tires.” She nodded like she might have a clue what he was talking about. Poor lass.

As if yesterday’s capris and T-shirt hadn’t worked on his nerves hard enough, today she wore snug denim shorts and a silky sleeveless top that divided his attention between her bare legs and the fullness of her breasts. A surge of heat flooded his system—especially in the region south of his belt.
Get a grip.
By today’s standards, her shorts weren’t even all that short. They came almost to her knees, and he’d certainly been around women who wore far less. He hadn’t reacted to them the way he did with Sky.

Turning away, he stacked the breastplates, pauldrons and plackarts of their armor and placed them on the racks he’d designed especially for their horse trailer. “They’re also picking up bagels, cream cheese and coffee for breakfast. We’ll eat on the road.”

“On the road? But . . . I . . . I thought to search the fair for Madame Giselle this morn. Can you tell me—”

“Look around you. The gates are locked up tight, and there’s no one inside the fairgrounds. The fair is closed. And that’s how it will remain until next weekend.” Glancing at her over his shoulder, he added, “Besides, I asked around yesterday afternoon. There are no fortune-tellers at this fair going by the name of Madame Giselle. Your faerie isn’t here.” Her face fell at that bit of news, and he regretted putting it out there the way he had. “Sorry, princess, I—”

“Why do you call me
princess
?” she bit out. “You ken well enough I am no such thing.”

“You carry yourself like royalty.” He shrugged, turning back to stow the greaves and cuisses. “I mean it as a compliment.”

“Nay. You dinna. Do you forget I am a truthsayer, sir?” She made a snorting noise. “Though your words sound pleasant enough, your intent is most disparaging.” With that revelation, she turned on her heel and strode back into his parents’ camper, slamming the flimsy aluminum door behind her.

Damn, he
had
forgotten. Guilt swamped him. She got under his skin on far too many levels and for far too many reasons to count. None of them were her fault. He blew out a breath and stared blindly into the surrounding woods. He should apologize, and he would, just not right this minute. He wanted to have everything ready to go by the time his family returned. Struan went back to packing up their gear, his mind in turmoil. Again.

Michael pulled Struan’s pickup into the campsite first. By that time, Struan had the horses fed, watered and ready to load. He patted Brutus’s neck as the gelding snuffled at his pockets in search of a treat.

Michael climbed out of the truck, holding a cardboard tray full of covered cups of coffee. He handed one to Struan. “Where’s Sky?”

Struan gestured toward the camper.

“Still?”

“She’s up and dressed. We . . . had words earlier. I guess she objects to being called
princess
.”

Michael’s expression turned accusatory. “It’s not about what you call her, Struan. It’s—”

“I know, and you’re right. My intent is
most
disparaging. I can’t seem to help myself. She just gets to me for some reason.” Her sudden appearance, her very presence churned up too much from his past and scared the shit out of him about his future—or the possible lack thereof. He couldn’t admit that to Michael though. “I know I behaved badly, and I swear I’ll apologize.”

Michael scrutinized him. “You’d better, or else.”

“Or else what?” He tousled Michael’s hair. “You’ll kick my butt?”

“That’s right.” Michael grinned before heading for the trailer.

Michael would do his best to smooth Sky’s ruffled feathers. Another pang of guilt hit him.
He
should be the one to soothe her injured feelings, since he’d been the one to wound her in the first place. Should he follow his brother into the trailer, tell Sky he was sorry? He stood in the middle of their campsite, indecision immobilizing him.

Gene pulled in next, followed by Marjorie. Gene climbed out and frowned at him. “What’s got your boxers in a bunch?”

“Just thinking.” He’d apologize to Sky while they were on the road. “Everything’s ready to go here.”

Marjorie set a large paper bag on the hood of their pickup. “Good. Where’s Michael with that coffee?”

“Inside with Sky.”

His ma’s sharp gaze settled on him for an uncomfortable second, before she nodded and headed for the trailer herself. Sighing, Struan imagined Michael would fill her in on all his transgressions. He’d get an earful from her later, he was sure.

The next half hour was spent readying everything for departure. Sky pitched in where she could, surprising him, adding to his load of guilt. With broom in hand, she was currently sweeping out Gene and Marjorie’s trailer. In his experience, women of noble birth were accustomed to having servants take care of such things like that for them. Sky was a paradox, proud and regal, yet willing to undertake even the most menial of tasks.

“I’ll take the horse trailer,” Struan said. “Sky, you can ride with me.”

“I’d rather travel with Michael or Gene and Marjorie.” Her delicate hands tightened around the broom handle.

He’d only added to her fear and uncertainty with his bad attitude. “I can’t blame you, but I think we need to talk.”

Michael came up beside her. “It’s OK, Sky. Ride with Struan for now, and when we stop, if you want, you can switch.” He patted her shoulder. “You two do need to talk.”

She shrugged as if it didn’t make any difference to her one way or the other. “Mayhap ’twould be good to come to some accord.” She disappeared into the trailer, reemerging a few moments later sans the broom and with her coffee cup clutched in one hand.

“That’s settled then,” Marjorie said, shooting Struan her sternest
make nice
look. “Let’s fix our bagels and head out.”

Using the hood of the truck for their table, Marjorie flattened the paper bag for a tablecloth and laid out their breakfast. “Sky, we have veggie cream cheese or honey walnut. Which would you prefer?”

“I dinna ken. Choose for me, Marjorie, for I am unfamiliar with such fare.”

“Honey walnut it is,” Marjorie said, slathering the spread onto both sides of a split bagel. She wrapped it in a large napkin and handed it to Sky. “Struan, help her get settled in your truck,” she commanded, “and I’ll fix your bagel.”

His stomach rumbling in anticipation, he did as he was told and helped Sky into her seat. “There’s a holder for your coffee,” he said, setting his own cup into one of the two spots between the seats.

“My thanks,” she murmured.

Struan took his bagel from Marjorie. “I’ll take up the rear, so we can keep Michael in the middle.”

“Take it slow,” Gene instructed Michael, as he helped himself to a couple of bagels. Gene helped Marjorie put away the extras, and then they climbed into their truck.

Soon they were bumping over the ruts in the hard-packed dirt trail leading out of the forest, and Sky was ignoring him. “I owe you an apology,” he said. She didn’t reply. He glanced at her. She wore a look of deep concentration, her brow furrowed. “Are you doing it now, Sky?”

Her eyes met his for a second. “Doing
it
?”

“Checking my apology for truth.”

“Nay.” She made a tsking sound. “I sensed the ambivalence in your
apology
the moment the words left your mouth. You spoke thus only because you feel you must.”

“I meant it. The ambivalence—”

“Why do you carry such resentment toward me?” She glared, her hands forming a tight little nest around her napkin-wrapped breakfast. “What have I done to offend you, sir? Pray, tell me now, so that I might—”

“You’ve done naught to give offense, save bringing the past forward to haunt me,” he snapped, reverting to the patterns of speech he’d worked so hard to suppress.

“We are no’ even from the same century. I have naught to do with
your
past,” she said, her voice hitching. “Your resentment is misplaced, sir. I want only to go h-home.”

Tears slipped down her cheeks, and his heart dropped painfully to the pit of his stomach. “I’m sorry, Sky. I . . . I fear your sudden appearance in my life will somehow lead me to peril, and that is the source of the resentment and the ambivalence you sense.” Partially, anyway. He couldn’t give voice to the labyrinth of emotions she evoked. Not rational, any of it, but he couldn’t seem to control associating her rank with what he’d suffered as a youth. Nor could he control his overwhelming attraction to her.

“Lead you to peril? How? Other than to helping me get to Minnesota, I have asked naught of you.” She picked at the napkin holding her bagel. “Nor will I.”

“I don’t believe your sudden appearance in my life has anything to do with chance.” He owed her an explanation, but he didn’t care one bit for sharing his fears. Would she see him as weak? Struan’s gut wrenched. “I should have died at Halidon Hill. My father did, along with too many of our clansmen to count.”

“Och, Struan. Nay.” She laid her hand on his forearm for a moment. “If you were meant to die that day, naught could have prevented you from doing so. That you were spared means your life still holds purpose.”

Hearing his name fall from her lips, along with the gentleness of her touch, brought a lump to his throat. He stifled the impulse to twine their fingers together and grasp at the comfort she so freely offered.

“That’s not how I see it, lass. I
was
dying. Grievously wounded and feverish, my life was slipping away bit by bit. Then the shimmering lights appeared, and I escaped fate’s decree. Do ye no’ see? I
was
meant to die that day. I’m living on borrowed time, and I fear that borrowed time is running out. I fear you are meant to take me back to the past, and it makes no difference whether it be Halidon Hill or Kildrummy. I cheated death once, and I ken well I will no’ be so lucky the second time ’round.” His voice broke. “And that, my lady, is at the root of my resentment toward you.”

“What power do you believe I hold to take you anywhere?” Sky asked, her eyes clouded with confusion. “I assure you, I have no such intent or expectation. I—”

“You have my oath to protect you, my lady. That holds power enough.”

“I remember no such oath. When did you swear fealty to me?”

“The moment you fell through time. Do you no’ recall? I gave you my word that you would be safe.”

“Ah, well then . . . I release you from your vow.” She straightened her posture and lifted her chin. “There. Will you cease resenting me now?”

“If only it were that simple.” He couldn’t help smiling. How could one wee lass be so haughty, and yet so warm and generous of heart at the same time? “I believe there are forces beyond our ken at work here. Perhaps fate has caught up with me at last.”

“Och, but ’tis naught but superstitious thinking on your part.” She shook her head. “You can take the man out of the fourteenth century, but you canna take the fourteenth century out of the man,” she muttered.

“What?”

“My cousin Robley’s wife says that whenever she’s vexed with him, only she says fifteenth century.” She glanced at him through her lashes. “Robley is the cousin who came to this century by choice. He returned to us, which leads me to believe I will be able to return home as well. By whatever means, send me to the McGladreys in Minnesota, and you need no’ worry over my presence any longer.”