Page 8 of Highlander’s Protector

“About one week on horseback,” Dùghlas said. “But I am nae coming with ye.”

David put away the map so that it wouldn’t be destroyed by the rain. “What?”

Dùghlas sighed heavily. “I canna set foot on English land, man. And I do need to get back to my own business, as much as I enjoyed this odd adventure with ye.”

David frowned. He wished he could convince Dùghlas to keep traveling with him and helping him, but he knew the man had his own life, his own agenda, and his own mission. As with all relationships for David, this was only temporary. No woman, man, or child could keep him here.

With regret, he squeezed Dùghlas’s shoulder. “I am sorry to hear that, buddy. As annoying as you are, I would rather make this insane journey with you than without you. You kept me safe. You taught me how to survive. You…” His throat caught. This was no use. Why was he being emotional when there was no way for him to make any connections in this age that he hated so much?

Dùghlas’s rifle-scope eyes were sharp on him again as he squeezed David’s shoulder.

“Dinna dismiss friendships so quickly, man,” Dùghlas said. “Whatever ye look for in those stones…mayhap ’tis nae there at all. Mayhap, if ye accepted whatever life is throwing at ye, ye’d realize ye already have all ye need. They are just rocks, after all.”

David shook his head. The man had no idea what he was talking about. They hugged, rain pouring over them as if from a bucket. Wind cut through David like a knife. Then they went their separate ways.

As Dùghlas’s horse grew smaller in the distance to the north, swallowed in the Scottish landscape like another dark spot of moss, David huddled in his leine croich. Loneliness crept into him with the wet coldness of the Highlands. Wondering if he would ever get back to Chicago, he led his horse south to Carlisle.

There, in the dungeons of the castle, somewhere where nightmares were born, could be his way back through time.

His way home.

CHAPTER 2

Ayr, Scotland

Three days later…

Anna MacDonald stepped onto the dark, wet sand and walked as far away from the sea as she could. She stood on the mainland of Scotland for the first time in her life.

The beach was littered with rocks and seaweed washed onto the shore like rags from a shipwreck she couldn’t see. As her clan bustled about, carrying chests, provisions, and weapons from the three birlinns, she took a long breath. She inhaled air full of the sharpness of seaweed, the ocean, and wet sand.

Finally, her life could begin. Finally, her father needed her.

After seven years of silence, her wait was over.

Uncle Aulay came to stand next to her, his hand casually on the pommel of his claymore at his waist, his eyes on a group of horse riders approaching them from the rocky hills that bordered the beach.

“Stay close, lass,” he said.

Colum came to stand on her other side. He was as tall as Aulay, but where Aulay was like a dependable boulder, big and muscular, a seasoned warrior with short, silvery hair and a beard, Colum was like a wolf, dark and lean and alert, his sharp eyes on the approaching group. She had been ecstatic when, after a year of imprisonment with the English, Colum had been freed by Uncle Aulay and other clansmen in 1307. And even though he’d returned different—somber and sad, not the beloved, humorous, kind war hero she’d known—she still loved him.

Anna reached into the hidden pocket of her long, angel-sleeved red dress and gripped the handle of the knife that Colum had given her for the journey. For the past seven years, she’d never swum again. But she had trained with knives and swords.

Colum cocked his head, the strands of his dark shoulder-length hair playing in the wind. “Do ye think ’tis the Bruce’s men bringing the horses? They come from the direction of the town of Ayr, as agreed.”

“I hope so,” Aulay said and looked back at his men, who were still unloading the three birlinns. “Stop, lads.”

They stopped immediately, putting down whatever they were carrying in an instant. The forty or so MacDonald clansmen moved into formation around their laird, Anna, and Colum. Forty fierce faces were hard, focused on the group of horsemen.

When one of the approaching men raised his hand and cried that they were from Ayr and brought horses for Anna’s journey, the MacDonalds relaxed, and the men resumed unloading the ships.

After a while, they started loading the horses. Anna fastened her sleeping roll to the brown Highland pony she was going to ride. She was a beautiful white mare. Her summer fur was soft and smooth, the scent of it dusty and warm. The sea whispered rhythmically as waves crashed onto the beach, but Anna would never be enchanted by the water’s song again. As men worked, talking to one another, occasional commands and warnings sounded. She kept throwing glances at the outline of the church of Ayr, the tallest building in a short mass of roofs at the edge of the coast up north, blue and foggy in the distance.

“He isna still there, is he?” she asked Aulay, who came to her horse with a heavier sack and fastened it to the other side of the saddle.

He’d been so heartbroken since Leitis had died. Seven years did not seem to have dulled the pain much.

Anna remembered that horrible night, one month after Tagradh had returned and brought her father to her. Leitis had gone into labor. It had been a little early, but it was the longest she’d ever gone in pregnancy, and there was much hope but also dread in the whole castle. She remembered standing in front of Aulay and Leitis’s bedchamber. Aulay’s hand lay on the door handle, but he hesitated, solemn, fire from the torches casting dancing shadows on his face, his eyes dark and burning. He breathed quickly, no doubt terrified, hopeful, and dreading the worst all at the same time. Leitis was moaning from behind the door.