Choosing the Highlander (2 page)

That wasn’t exactly true. She had a successful career and wonderfully supportive parent. She had a sister she loved more than anything. But she also wanted to be married and have a family. After the other evening with Milt, she realized she needed love to be a part of that, which meant she would have to completely rethink her strategy for finding a partner.

She would start with making a clean break with Milt as soon as she returned home. But that was a problem for another day. Right now, she was enjoying her sister, and she wanted Leslie to have
her
heart’s desire.

“The thing I want most is for you to be happy,” Leslie said, coming to her and taking her hands. “You’re my sister. I love you and my wish is for
you
to be happy.”

“I don’t need happiness,” she argued. “In fact, what I want most in life is to earn my own success. Wishes are for people who would rather get things the easy way than to work hard.”

Leslie blew a raspberry at her, making them both laugh. “Phooey on you,” she said, echoing one of their mother’s favorite comebacks. “Now be quiet while this lazybones makes her wish.”

Connie shook her head, mortified that she’d inadvertently insulted her sister. “Oh, hon, I didn’t mean it like that.” Her energetic sister was at the opposite end of the spectrum from lazy. She might not have a job, but she applied herself to studying art and culture and making friends everywhere she went. She didn’t respect Leslie less because of the choices she made. They just made it harder for her to relate to her twin.

Leslie beamed. “I know, silly. It’s called sarcasm.”

Connie sighed with relief. Her sister was more easy-going than she would ever be. “Gosh, I love you,” she said. “All right, make your wish.” She owed her sister this indulgence.

Besides, beneath all her protests and eye rolling, she was touched Leslie would use this supposedly magical moment to make a wish on her behalf. It reminded her of when Leslie used to throw pennies in fountains for luck and she would always toss in two, one for herself and one for Connie.

The sun made a razor-thin neon line between two of the standing stones. It was about to come up. Leslie let go of Connie’s hands and faced the horizon.

Raising her palms skyward, she looked like a pagan goddess with her long dress flowing around her legs and her ebony hair tangling in the warm summer wind. Long shadows reached toward her from the stones like supplicant fingers. The neon strip of sunlight swelled into a semicircle.

A frisson of trepidation passed over Connie, gone as soon as she’d felt it.

Strange.

She stood up and hitched her backpack into place to prepare for the hike back to where they’d left their bicycles. “Are you done yet? I seem to remember being promised a hearty Scottish breakfast in exchange for getting up so early.” Her stomach grumbled with emptiness. Or was it churning with uneasiness?

Leslie didn’t seem to hear her. “I call upon the good spirits,” she said in a somber voice so unlike her usual brightness. “I call upon the powers that be. Receive my wish on behalf of my twin. She trusts her mind to find her mate, when it should be her heart to direct her fate.

“Open her eyes this day. Let her experience love as it is meant to be. Let her feel passion such as she deserves. Shower my womb-mate with your blessings. I know no more deserving soul. Let my wish be cast with the power of the sun on this holy day. So mote it be.”

Love. Passion. Trusting one’s heart. These were notions Connie outwardly scoffed at. But hearing them voiced by her sister in this beautiful place stirred a warm sadness inside her. It was like a ray of sun touched that most secret place where she guarded the half-formed desires she dared not fully acknowledge. In that secret place, something took root.

Leslie lowered her hands and looked back at Connie. “That felt awesome.”

“Sure. Yeah.” Connie’s throat constricted. She cleared it and forced out, “Thanks for the wish. Ready for breakfast?”

On the heels of the question, a fist tightened inside her, right behind her breastbone—where the witch’s stone rested. Dizziness crashed over her.

Impossibly, the standing stones began spinning. The sun flickered between like a headlight through the spokes of a bicycle tire. Roaring filled her ears. She had the strangest sensation that the stone circle was a cog within a vast clock made up of the Scottish countryside.

“What’s happening?” She fell to her knees.

“Con?” Leslie’s voice echoed faintly, like it came from a great distance. “Where’d you go?”

Connie caught a brief glimpse of her Leslie’s worried face before her sister’s image flickered to nothing. Brilliant light overwhelmed her senses and sent shards of pain through her head.

She clapped her hands over her eyes, but it didn’t stop the light from blinding her. How could that be? It was like the light was
inside
her head.

“Leslie? What’s happening?” Fear had her in an icy grip.

Surely there was a rational explanation for what she was experiencing. Maybe she was having a stroke. Twenty-eight was rather young for that, but she’d heard of it happening to people in their thirties.

Leslie didn’t respond.

The light faded. At first, she thought she’d gone completely blind, but after a moment’s adjustment, she realized the flickering of sunlight through the spinning stones had changed to the dim orange glow of a fire. She viewed it through some sort of lattice-work. A bush without leaves.

The dizziness lifted. She found herself on hands and knees on the hard ground. It was night time. The temperature was a far cry from the balmy June morning she had been enjoying with Leslie.

A few moments ago, sweat from the hike had dampened her underarms. Now, that same sweat cooled with alarming speed. She began to shiver.

Sitting back on her haunches, she hugged herself. It felt like the dead of a damp winter. Her breath came too fast as her mind sought to make sense of her surroundings.

“Do ye hear that?”

A man’s voice.

“Aye.” Another man. “Unless my ears deceive me, we have a lurker beyond yon thicket.”

Crisp footsteps approached. Should she run? Should she stand and make herself known? Where the heck had Leslie gone? Fear held her frozen.

“Caution, sir. May be an English spy. We are well into Perthshire by now, after all. I heard Ruthven’s men have caught several since harvest.”

The other man grunted.

Two dark figures appeared from around the bush. Her eyes had not yet adjusted. The only detail she could make out was that they wore bulky clothes in dark hues.

They came to a stop so close she had to crane her neck to look up at them.

She could see well enough to tell they were both bearded. And frowning.

She stood up on shaking legs. “Hello,” she greeted. She attempted a smile past her chattering teeth. “I seem to have become lost.”

“
Och,
’tis but a woman.”

“A woman who sounds more English than Scots. And who is oddly dressed.”

“You mean partially dressed.” One of the men unwound a length of fabric from around his shoulders. He started to hold it out to her.

The other man stopped him by grabbing his arm. “Halt. Might this be one of the witches the bishop has warned about?”

Their brogues were thick, but their words began to register. They were worried about her being an English spy or a witch. Logic suggested these could not be modern-day men. But that was ridiculous. Maybe she’d come across some kind of theater production.

“Mayhap. Best take her to Ruthven to be cert.” The men advance on her.

She stepped backwards, her breath fogging in front of her. “Look, there seems to have been a misunderstanding. I’m an American. I was just watching the sunrise with my sister. I don’t know what happened or how I got here, but I’m not part of…whatever this is. I’ll just—uh—be going.”

One of the men said, “The sun willna rise for hours. Where is this sister of yours?”

“At Druid’s Temple, outside Inverness. You know, the stones on the hill? If you just point me in the right direction, I’ll find my way back.” Uneasiness crept up on her. Her hackles began to rise. Could she be in danger with these men? She backed up as they edged closer.

One man sucked in a breath. “Inverness? Lass, you’re four days’ ride from there. Ye be in Perthshire, nay far from Sterling.”

Perthshire. Sterling. These names registered vaguely. Sterling, she knew from her travel guide, was the name of the town and the castle where many of Scotland’s royalty had preferred to live over the nearby Edinburgh Castle. Perthshire was probably an antiquated name for Perth, which was north of Edinburgh. She and Leslie had been planning to stay in Perth once they left their bed and breakfast in Inverness. From there, they would go on day trips to explore Sterling, Edinburgh, and any other places that struck their fancy.

The man had to be mistaken. Perth was a few hours’ drive from Inverness. She couldn’t possibly be in Perth. Not looking where she was going, she backed herself up against a hard surface. Her hands sought out what lay behind her. It felt like a wagon wheel.

“She speaks freely of Druids,” the other man said. “And look what she wears around her neck. A hag stone.”

“She must be a witch. Quickly. Bind her.”

They grabbed her.

She screamed.

No one came to her rescue.

Chapter 2

Wilhelm despised the cold. Yet he found the frigid atmosphere of the bailey preferable to the stifling heat and even more stifling company inside the home of the noble who had once tried to murder his mother.

At his back stood Castle Ruthven, the seat of Lord Jacob Ruthven, Baron of Perthshire. To the east and west were the Ruthven family chapel and stables. Straight ahead, to the north, was the seawall beyond which mist rose off the River Almond like icy breath.

He was surrounded by the fortress of his enemy. For only one thing would he consent to set foot in this place: his passion for justice. If he could but remember that, he would survive the evening.

He drew in a breath of air so cold it stung his throat and seared his lungs, steeling himself to reenter the great hall full of pampered nobles. There were seven parliamentarians he must convince to his way of thinking before he could consider this journey a success, and he had spoken to six thus far. Lord Turstan remained. Wilhelm had not been fortunate enough to be seated near the parliamentarian during supper, but he would find him now that the meal had ended.

Footsteps on the stairs behind him made him glance back the way he’d come. He expected to see Terran, his look-alike cousin who had accompanied him to Perth, but to his dismay, ’twas lord Ruthven himself who approached.

Bugger. He’d hoped to avoid speaking with his host.

“I’d wondered where you’d gone off to.” Ruthven clasped his hands in front of his belt as he came grandly down the steps into the bailey.

Jewels sparkled on his fingers, and the expensive dyed wool of his plaid winked indigo in the torchlight. A rabbit-fur cloak swept the stones at his feet. He’d spared no expense in his wardrobe, and he had been just as generous with the feast he had laid out for supper. No amount of grandeur and generosity, however, could hide the glint of malice in Ruthven’s gaze. His actions were those of a courteous host, but his tone was one of a man who would just as soon stick a dirk between Wilhelm’s ribs as invite him into his home for a meal.

Ruthven came to a halt at Wilhelm’s side. “I was beginning to think you had departed before tonight’s entertainment.”

Would that he could quit himself of Ruthven’s presence now that supper had ended, but nay. Not only did propriety demand he remain, but he refused to take leave without first securing Lord Turstan’s support.

“If my lord’s entertainment is half as fine as his supper, my cousin and I shall be content to remain a while yet.” ’Twas a strong temptation to let sarcasm seep into his words, but he refrained. The fact remained that until Wilhelm succeeded his father, Laird Alpin Murray of Dornoch and Baron of Duffus, Ruthven would outrank him.

’Twould not do to provoke the man, especially since Wilhelm’s judicial act wasn’t the only thing at stake tonight. ’Twas his first gathering representing his aging father. One foot out of place and he risked vital alliances for his clan or stood to make powerful enemies. His father had trusted him to carry the mantle of the Murray. Wilhelm would not disappoint him.

“You honor me with your compliment,” Ruthven said as his dinner guests made their way into the bailey. Whatever entertainment Ruthven had planned must be taking place outdoors. Odd, given the season—today was the winter solstice, the darkest day of the year, and oft one of the coldest.

Wilhelm searched among the gathering nobles for Lord Turstan’s white hair and heather-gray cap. He’d sought out the parliamentarian toward the start of his journey down the coast. Turstan’s home in Inverness had been his and Terran’s first destination after departing Dornoch. But the earl hadn’t been at home. His master of household had informed them he had left early for tonight’s gathering in order to visit kin along the way. Wilhelm hoped he might meet him on the road, but he’d seen no sign of Turstan’s banner.

He didn’t ken the parliamentarian well enough to suppose which way he voted on acts regarding education, but Wilhelm hoped to gain his support for the act that if passed would require all lairds in waiting to attend school from the age of nine until qualified for university. Such a law would ensure that dross like Ruthven were at least cured of their ignorance before they came to power. Unfortunately, Wilhelm kent of no possible cure for a depraved heart.

Wilhelm would speak with Turstan during their host’s festivities. Then he could find Terran and quit himself of this place. An evening at an inn, and they would be free to return home.

How he missed the rolling hills of Dornoch and the scents of fertile soil and livestock. How he missed his mother and father. He longed to share with them news from his travels along the coast. His father would be pleased at the support Wilhelm had collected.