Page 19 of Highlander’s Hope

“Mother?” Colin called after her.

“Aye, son?” She turned around.

“Seaghán is Uncle Ian, isna he? And ye are his sister?”

She let out a shaky breath. He was too smart for his age.

“Aye, sweet.”

“I would have liked to meet him.”

“I would have liked ye to meet him, too.”

She wished him goodnight for the last time and walked out of his room. She leaned against the door after she closed it and simply breathed for a moment. She was safe. She was all right. Thanks to Ian. Thanks to all the men of her clan. Men she could trust.

While Colin would never have a father as a male role model, and she’d never trust a man with her heart, her son did have plenty of great warriors to learn from, like Marjorie’s father and brothers. That was enough.

Chapter 7

After a night in the castle, Konnor’s confidence that this was some sort of reclusive community was fading. He looked out the window and saw the guards on the walls. They appeared way too serious and way too armed to be playing around. If this was a role-playing game, how long would these people keep up the pretense? If this was a closed community, wouldn’t they still have to have some connection to the outside world?

If they really expected a siege—and judging by their somber expressions, one was coming—that meant there was another group of people who lived the same way.

They couldn’t be completely isolated. Growing and keeping food required gardens, crops, and animals. Yes, there were animals in the courtyard, but he hadn’t seen gardens or fields around the castle. They must buy that stuff from a grocery store.

Something was off. Everything in the room looked like it had been made by hand—the blanket, the bed, the chests, and the torches. There had to be a logical explanation to all of this. There was one possible explanation, but Konnor completely refused to believe it. It was there nevertheless.

Both Sìneag and Isbeil had talked about Ancient Pictish magic opening a tunnel through the river of time.

There was no way time travel and magic were real. He could just imagine Andy and his other buddies laughing their asses off if they heard he was even considering it. He didn’t know what was wrong with this place or how to explain all of it, but there was tension in his gut and tilting under his feet, as though he were on a lurching ship during a storm. Maybe he was just paying for all the whiskey he’d dulled his senses with yesterday.

His ankle didn’t hurt as much today, and it felt like the swelling was going down. He was grateful for Isbeil’s treatment, despite the lack of modern medicine.

He wasn’t going to sit in one place, so he asked a girl who brought him porridge and buttermilk if she could find him a crutch he could borrow. She’d said she’d ask and left the room.

He was going to find a way to escape, hopefully before any siege started. The Marine in him couldn’t help wondering what weapons would be used. Surely whoever these MacDougalls were, they wouldn’t use guns against swords and arrows? He couldn’t just run away and leave the people here at the mercy of a well-armed force, could he?

Konnor shifted, put both his feet on the floor and laced up the shoes.

“Are ye planning something?” Marjorie asked from the doorway.

He turned his head and forgot how to breathe. Her hair was tied up now, and she wore a simple, almost manly tunic that hung to her knees. The baggy clothes highlighted her femininity even more. Her thin waist and the gentle curves of her hips was hugged by a belt. She was strong and willowy, like a taut bow string. There was a crutch in her hands—a straight, thick stick with a small piece of wood across the top of it to fit under his arm.

Konnor cocked his head. “Thanks. I want to look around.”

“Ye’re nae leaving the castle, aye? I thought I was clear yesterday.”

“You were.” He chuckled, enjoying the fire in her voice. “But I can’t sit back and wait for the walls to fall. You talked about a siege. Can I help?”

“Ye?” She looked him up and down.

“I’m a Marine. Served in Iraq.”

“Iraq? Again yer strange words.” She sighed. “Why am I wasting my time with ye when I have my warriors to train?”

She took one long stride into the room and stood right before him. She handed him the crutch. He took it and slowly looked up her body to her face. She was like a Highland queen from ancient legends, with her big, green eyes against her pale skin. Her cheeks were rosy from the exercise, and her lips were round and red. He itched to trace his knuckles against the side of her face. She didn’t wear makeup—and she didn’t need any. Long, thick eyelashes framed her eyes, and her lips were so kissable.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said without thinking.