Page 6 of Desiring the Highland Laird (Highland Destiny #1)

“C allum! Ye best come quickly, lad!”

Callum halted his swing of the sword when his father shouted. Sweat glistened on his upper torso, his breath see-sawing in and out as he paused his training with his brother to turn. His father, Hamish, hurried toward him.

“What is it, Da?” Alarm went through him when he saw the fear etched on his da’s aged face.

He paused to catch his breath. “I cannae explain. Ye must come quickly.” He waved him to follow.

“Ye best go, brother,” Malcolm said, holding his sword against his side.

Callum dropped his weapon where he stood, then reached for his discarded tunic, pulling it on over his head.

He followed his da from the courtyard through the castle gates.

Hamish hurried ahead of him favoring his left leg.

The limp had grown more pronounced over the last few years.

An old war wound that never healed properly.

Callum saw nothing ahead and wondered if his da had gone daft.

Finally, he halted, peering down at something on the ground. When Callum stopped next to him, he was shocked to see a woman lying unconscious in the grass. Her legs and feet were bare, her arms outstretched, and her face turned to one side.

Something shifted through him as he looked at her. He had seen her before…in a dream. A sense of familiarity was like a crashing wave through him.

But it couldn’t be. It didn’t seem possible the woman of his dreams was here in the flesh.

“’Tis a lassie,” Callum said, a bit dumbfounded.

“Aye. Ye noticed, did ye?”

“Where did she come from?”

Hamish’s eyes held a curious gleam. “Och, laddie, did ye no see the flash? The prophecy has come true.”

Callum had never believed in the prophecy and snorted derision. He tipped his head to the side as he looked at his da.

“Ye ken I dinnae believe that. ’Tis no but codswallop.”

Hamish frowned his annoyance. “I saw it with me own eyes. Like in the tale of the Shattering. While ye were practicing, the flash ripped the sky in two. I watched the lassie as she fell. I thought she was dead. I dinnae ken how she survived the fall. Look there.” He pointed to her hand.

“What is it?” Callum kneeled in the grass next to her to get a closer look.

Resting in her palm was a small stone, her flesh red and angry with the imprint of the curved marking.

The jagged piece of stone rested against her hand, her fingers open and limp around it.

It looked as though she had clutched it so tight, it left deep indentations on her palm as well as the imprint from the stone itself.

Her clothes were odd. The black garment she wore barely covered her arse. Her long legs were smooth and her feet bare. Her skin was the color of the moon. She had a shock of red-and-gold hair splayed out behind her. A fair lovely lass, to be sure.

But the stone was of the most interest to him.

“I think it’s the verra keystone we are to protect.”

As Callum looked closer, he saw the jagged edges. “But it’s no the whole stone.”

Hamish shook his head. “Doesna matter. It is the stone foretold to come to us.”

“But a piece of the stone?” He shook his head, still unconvinced. “Who is she? Where did she get it?”

“I dinnae ken,” Hamish said, sounding as perplexed as he felt. “Do ye believe the prophecy now, laddie?”

“I think the better question is how did she get it?” Malcolm said.

He joined them and stood next to his da, his fisted hands on his hips. He’d donned his tunic, which was damp from their workout. He gazed down at the lass with interest.

“A fair question, lad. ’Tis clear she time traveled here,” Hamish said. “By the looks of her garment, mayhap from the future.”

Callum looked up at his father. “The future? But how?”

“Why else would she be here?” He waved his hand to encompass their land. “She has a piece of the keystone. A piece we were promised we’d have.”

Callum shook his head and scoffed. “’Tis a farce.”

“I ken ye dinnae believe it, but ye must,” his da insisted.

“Mayhap argue about that later. We best no leave her here,” Malcolm said.

“No, we cannae leave the wee lassie here,” Hamish agreed.

“No, we cannae,” Callum agreed.

“What do ye suggest, brother?” Malcolm said.

“Take her to the keep,” his da said, as if that were the most obvious thing to do.

Callum rose to his full height, still gazing down at the sleeping lass. “Are ye half mad, Da? If we bring her to the keep, then she becomes our responsibility.”

“So, ye mean to leave her here in the field?” he asked. He clucked his tongue.

“Well, brother, if yer no goin’ to pick her up and take her to the keep, I will.” Malcolm thumbed at his chest. There was a glint of mirth in his brother’s eyes as though he were goading him to take her. He started to lean down when Callum grabbed his arm and stopped him.

“I’ll do it.”

Malcolm chuckled as Callum once again kneeled down.

He took the stone from her hand and placed it in his sporran.

He scooped her into his arms, cradling her against his chest. Her head lolled against him.

He noticed a gash on her chin. Freckles dotted her nose and cheeks.

Her breathing was shallow. Her skin was cold and clammy.

“We best get her inside. She’s cold,” he said.

The lass was light in his arms as he carried her back to the keep. His da and brother were right behind him.

“I’ll put her in my chamber,” Callum said. “She’ll be safest there. Send for Dougal.”

He charged inside and headed up the curved staircase to his bedchamber.

He kicked the door closed to keep the others out until the healer arrived.

Then he placed her gently on the bed. As he did so, he noticed the bruises along her shins.

What had happened to her? He reached for the thick coverlet, pulling it over her. She made not a sound as she slept on.

He stared down at her, wondering where she got a piece of the keystone.

It was also called the Chronos Stone, at least according to the Triple Goddess.

He wasn’t one to believe in that or the existence of the Triple Goddess.

The idea of an all-powerful stone that had mystical abilities to control time seemed like far too much madness.

Yet here was this mysterious lass holding the piece promised to come to him.

Well, not him personally. His clan—Clan MacLeod.

Or so his da had told them.

What were the words of the prophecy? Something about MacLeod blood guarding the stone. He couldn’t recall, though his da touted it whenever he had the chance. He’d heard the story as he grew up and yet he never believed in it.

He pushed away those thoughts, though. It seemed senseless to continue to dwell on them.

Now that he was alone with her, it gave him time to look her over without his brother or da hovering.

The bruises and cut along her chin, as well as the contusions blooming color on her shins, made him think she’d run from something…

or someone. As though she ran from something or someone and took a tumble.

But from who and why? He hoped when she awoke, she’d be able to tell him the answer.

Even looking at her now, that strange sense he had seen her before wafted through him.

Unbidden, remnants of a dream flickered through his mind.

A dream in which a lass with fiery red hair, golden strands shining in the candlelight, climbed into his lap.

It had seemed so real at the time when he awoke, he thought for sure she was in his bed.

Disappointment flooded him when he realized he was alone.

Remembering the stone, he removed it from his sporran to get a good look at it.

When he first saw it nestled in her hand, he’d noticed the carved engraving.

Now that he held it, he was able to get a better look at it and see it was part of a triquetra with the arc of a circle going through the top of it.

He cut her another glance. Was she from the future?

Could this be part of the keystone that represented all of time?

She shifted on the bed with a faint moan.

He pocketed the stone once again as a knock sounded on his door. He pulled it open and welcomed Dougal, the healer and their steward, inside.

“Dougal,” he greeted.

“I hear ye have a visitor, Callum.” He shot him a grin as he entered the bedchamber, then halted when he saw the sleeping woman on the bed. “Aye, a fair bonnie lass.”

Impatience bubbled through him and a sudden sense of possessiveness. “Get to it.”

He chuckled as he moved closer to the side of the bed to check her over. As he reached for her, her eyes flew open. She sat up and screamed.

*

When Evie opened her eyes, the first thing she saw was a scruffy man with long, tangled hair leaning down toward her. Panic surged through her. Before she could think, a yelp tore through her throat as she scrambled back away from him.

It was then she realized she was in an oversized bed with four posts covered in thick velvet curtains. She moved backward on the soft mattress that felt as though it were stuffed with feathers to get away from the intruder.

“Stay back!” she warned.

“Och, lass, I mean ye no harm.”

His thick Scottish brogue made her realize she was still in Scotland. She glanced around the room, though she didn’t recognize it. The last thing she recalled was being in the museum and hunted by Bruce MacDonald.

A second man shoved the first out of the way. “Move aside, Dougal. Ye scared the poor wee lass.”

As soon as she saw him, she sucked in a sharp breath. His sharp blue eyes met hers. A moment of recognition pounded through her. The strange dream she had of the man by the fire flared bright in her mind. She was certain this was the man she saw in her dreams.

He stood at the side of the bed with his hands up as if in surrender. “We’re no goin to hurt ye, lass. What’s yer name?”

She looked from him to the man he called Dougal and back again. “Evie. Evie Sinclair.”

“Well, Evie Sinclair, welcome to Dundale.”

Words escaped her as her mind shut down. No, that wasn’t possible. She was in Edinburgh at a museum with her sister.

Her sister! Where was Chloe?

She shoved aside the thick blanket that covered her and leapt from the bed on the opposite side of the man.

“Chloe.” Her sister’s name came out on a choke.

“Take it easy, lass,” the man said. “Yer no fit to be walking.”

As soon as she took her first step, her leg gave out and she tumbled to the stone flooring. She cried out when she rapped her elbow against the floor. The man was at her side in an instant, kneeling down in front of her with a concerned look in those gorgeous blue eyes.

“Are ye hurt?”

She gripped her elbow. “Who are you?”

“Callum,” he said. “Callum MacLeod.”

Moira’s words came back to her then. Dundale was home to Clan MacLeod. But how did she end up here?

“Ye best let me have a look at her,” the other man said.

Callum waved him off. “Give us a minute.”

Nodding, Dougal shuffled from the room, closing the door behind him.

Callum turned his attention back to her. “I’m fair worried about ye. Ye took a rough tumble.”

“It’s not the first time I’ve fallen out of bed,” she said.

The corner of his mouth lifted in a grin. “I no mean that, lass. I mean ye fell from the sky.”

Hot pinpricks went over her as she stared at him. “I fell from the sky? How?”

“It doesna seem possible to me, either, lass. But my da insists ye fell from the sky and are from the future.”

He sounded as though he didn’t believe that she was from the future.

But looking at him in his sweat stained tunic and dirty breeches told her she was no longer in her own time.

He was unlike any man she had met. Tall, ruggedly handsome, with muscular biceps straining against the material of his shirt.

Her stomach clenched into a tight knot. She didn’t want to believe it herself, but then, it was clear she was no longer in the museum.

Her mind raced, trying to remember the last thing she did.

Everything was a bit fuzzy, though. Running through the museum, trying to escape Bruce.

The way he grabbed her by the ankle. She had kicked him and scrambled up the stairs.

She had the stone.

She glanced down at her hand where the dark red imprint was. Had the stone transported her back in time?

She found her voice at last. “I’m in the…past?”

“It seems so, lass,” Callum replied, his tone calm and patient.

“What year is it then?” she demanded.

“’Tis the year 1357.”

She had no response to that. Upon hearing she had landed in the fourteenth century, she did the only sensible thing. She fainted straightaway.