Page 16 of The Love Leap (Timeless Love Chronicles #1)

Chapter Fifteen

I slide into a wooden chair, finding myself shoulder-to-shoulder with Mac, a lively old-timer.

He leans in, conspiratorially close, his accent thick and sweet as syrup.

Cal reappears at our table, arms laden with frothy pints of local brew.

The glasses clink together in a chorus of friendship as we lift them high for the toast.

“Ever heard about the warrior queen who led her clan to victory against the English using nothing but her brains and a hefty sword?” Mac asks.

I shake my head, curiosity already piqued. “Can’t say that I have.”

Mac takes a hearty gulp of his ale, relishing the chance to spin his tale. “Ah! It was something else! Legend has it she charged into battle atop a horse blacker than midnight, her flaming hair flying behind her like a war banner. They called her Aoife the Fierce...”

His words weave an enchanting tapestry of times long past. I picture Aoife rallying her troops on fog-drenched moors, swords clashing, hooves thundering, and cries of pain echoing through the air. It’s like I’m there in flesh and blood.

Caught up in this historical reverie, I almost miss Moira, Mac’s wife, joining in. “And don’t forget about Cawdor Castle’s ghost! Rumor has it she still roams its walls looking for her lost love.”

“Ghost?” I blink. My writerly instincts snap to attention. “Go on!”

Moira’s eyes glint mysteriously under the dim pub lights. “Long ago, an innocent bride was confined to the tower by her ruthless husband who accused her of adultery and left her to starve. When he finally unlocked the door... all he found was her wedding dress fluttering eerily in the breeze...”

A shiver of delight crawls up my spine. I can almost see it: the dank, shadowy tower room, the spectral figure in white, a love story twisted into tragedy. It’s pure Gothic romance, complete with desolate moors and tormented hearts.

I glance at Cal, wondering if he’s caught up in this thrill too; these stories coming alive, history seeping into our present. Our eyes meet, and for a split second, there’s something there. A spark of understanding? Or maybe just the flickering firelight playing tricks on his rugged features.

Regardless, one thing is clear: I’m exactly where I want to be. And I wish this night would never end.

An infectious wave of laughter sweeps through the room, only dying down when all eyes land on Cal.

“Alright, ye sea-soaked barnacle,” his brother Cam begins. “How about ye delight us with yer favorite tale?”

Cal rolls his eyes. “Just so ye know, being ‘waterlogged’ has zilch to do with my sailing prowess,” he shoots back.

“Oh, I’m not doubting yer seafaring skills,” Cam replies, a devilish grin spreading across his face as he lifts his half-drained pint glass in a mock salute. “It’s yer alcohol tolerance that worries me.”

Sharon, Hamish, Mac, and Moira laugh again as Cal pretends to be affronted.

“Me? Can’t hold my liquor?” He dramatically clutches his chest as if stung by the accusation. “I’ll have ye know I can drink any of ye under the table.”

Cam snorts and shakes his head dismissively. “You couldn’t even manage bartending at last year’s family gathering without tripping over your own two feet.”

The laughter and banter flow around us like an affectionate tide. It’s clearly just another typical evening for these loving siblings, filled with friendly jabs and fraternal bonding.

After a while, Cal sidesteps Cam’s jibes and the local gossip and smoothly steers the conversation back to local legends.

“Well, I’ve already shared my favorite story with our resident wordsmith here—the legend of the Loch Portal,” he says, his raised brow hinting at something more. “But for ye lot, I’d be thrilled to spin that yarn once more.”

He leans forward, forearms resting on the worn wood of the pub table, lowering his voice to an enticing whisper that pulls us closer.

“They say Loch Ness morphs into a gateway to bygone times on certain moonlit nights. Dare to leap into its glittering depths, and ye might find yourself catapulted to another era.”

I try to keep my face impassive as his words ignite a thrill. However, curiosity trumps any pretense of indifference, and I ask him, “Has anyone ever done it? Time-traveled?”

“Legends abound,” Cal begins in a hushed undertone like he’s sharing some top-secret information.

“Stories of folks who vanished mysteriously during a full moon, only to reappear weeks later. They insist they’ve spent months or years in different periods, yet are seemingly untouched by time!

No one knows who these time-travelers were, but the rumors say they lived alongside kings, mystics, warriors, and witches. ”

A shiver runs down my spine as I picture the loch gleaming under a full moon, the water rippling as an unseen force drags me under. Would I surface in a castle with my combat boots swapped for silk slippers? Or on a battlefield with the clash of swords ringing in my ears?

“Of course, it’s all just legend,” Cal says, breaking the spell. “But still... it does make ye wonder...”

“It sure does,” I breathe out, my brain spinning like a top with many possibilities. A hidden portal right under our noses. An opportunity to not just read about history but to experience it. It’s mind-boggling, truth be told. And I can’t help it: I’m thirsty for more.

“I wouldn’t dismiss it so quickly, Cal,” Sharon pipes up, her hazel eyes twinkling. “There might be some truth in it. We’ve seen weirder things happen.”

The other locals nod solemnly, their features bathed in the warm light from the pub’s hearth. “Aye, like when old Fraser Mcloughlin swore he spotted a phantom piper on the Firth,” Hamish chimes in, his words wrapped in a thick Scottish accent.

“Or when that girl insisted she was whisked away by fairies from our church on top of the hill,” Cameron pitches in before taking a hearty gulp of his whisky.

I lean forward eagerly, my elbows resting on the aged wooden table. “So what’s your verdict? Is this Loch Portal real or just a tall tale people spin around here?”

The debate breaks loose. Some argue fervently for its authenticity, citing ancient texts and family lore passed down through generations, while others remain skeptical, pointing out the lack of solid proof and how stories tend to get exaggerated over time.

In the middle of all this chaos, Cal watches me. “What about ye, Mills?” he asks, cutting through all other voices. “What do ye believe?”

I hesitate, my thoughts swirling like a twister. Part of me wants to brush this off as pure fantasy and retreat to my safe, logical world. But the other part, the one that’s always been attracted to enigmas and magic, yearns to embrace it as a possibility.

“I think,” I start slowly, “that there are things in this world that we can’t see or explain. And maybe, just maybe, the Loch Portal is one of those things.”

The pub bursts into cheers and laughter, and glasses clink together to celebrate the unknown. I join in, feeling an overwhelming sense of camaraderie and shared wonderment, and I find myself grinning wider than ever before.

I may not have all the answers yet, but right now, surrounded by Scotland’s enchanting charm and the promise of adventure, I feel like I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.

As the animated discussion begins to fade out, curiosity gets the better of me. “So where should I go to explore some of this history myself?” My pen hovers over my notebook, ready for action.

The locals exchange knowing glances.

“Well, lass,” Mac replies, “ye can’t go wrong with Urquhart Castle. It’s just around here on Loch Ness’s banks.”

His wife nods enthusiastically. “Aye, don’t forget about Clava Cairns either. Those ancient stone circles have a magic of their own.”

I scribble furiously, trying to keep up with their suggestions: Culloden Battlefield, where the Jacobite uprising met its tragic end; Inverness Museum and Art Gallery, with its vast collection of artifacts and stories; Inverness’s winding streets, where history seems to whisper from every cobblestone.

As I write down each suggestion, excitement washes over me. These aren’t just names on a map; they’re doorways into history waiting for me to step through them. Each recommendation feels like a key handed over to me to unlock their secrets.

I glance at Cal, curious to know if he can feel the buzz of anticipation zinging through my veins.

But he’s lost in some deep chat with his brother, their heads huddled together over an inside joke.

I pivot back to the locals, my grin stretching wider.

“Thank you,” I tell them earnestly. “I’m stoked to explore all these places myself. ”

Moira extends her hand and gives mine a gentle pat, her eyes crinkling in a warm smile. “Make sure ye do that, sweetheart. And once ye’ve done all that, swing by and spill all the details. We’ll be here, eager for yer tales.”

I nod, swallowing down an unexpected lump in my throat.

It’s odd how this group, strangers to me only four hours ago, has made me feel so embraced, so at home.

With renewed resolve, I stash my notebook into my bag and rise from my seat, ready to dive headfirst into whatever adventures lay sprawled ahead of me.

And as I do so, I can’t resist peeking at my trusty combat boots that have weathered countless twists and turns with me.

Maybe it sounds goofy, but there’s this nagging feeling that they’ve led me here on purpose, that somehow, they’ll guide me towards the story destined for me.

The evening wraps up, and Cal and I say our goodbyes to his brother and my new friends. We promise to return soon for more laughter-filled nights and shared shenanigans.

The cool night air greets us as we step outside, the lively echoes of laughter and clinking glasses gradually fading into the background as we meander down the cobblestone street.

“Well, that was a hoot,” I comment, shooting Cal a playful grin. “Your brother could totally have his own talk show.”

Cal’s laugh is low and warm, causing his eyes to crinkle at the corners. “Aye, Cameron’s always been our resident chatterbox. Me? I’m supposedly the strong, silent type.”

I can’t help but snort at this. “Silent? You? I beg to differ, mister. You were holding court in there with all those tales of warriors and legends.”

He shrugs casually. “What can I say? Ye bring out my inner bard, Mills.” His voice dips lower, sending a delicious shiver.

We walk in companionable silence, our footsteps echoing against the surrounding old buildings. As Rosewood Cottage comes into view, my stomach twists with anticipation.

Cal stops at the gate, his fingers lingering on the icy metal latch before he turns to face me under the soft glow of moonlight. We’re so close, I can practically hear his heart thrumming in his chest.

“Tonight was... perfectly right... with you... Teine ’ na broinn ,” he murmurs.

His words form a lump in my throat—a personal endearment from him— fire inside her . Usually, I’d deflect such intimacy with humor or sarcasm, but tonight feels different.

I swallow before speaking. “Me too,” is all I manage to get out before my heart starts pounding like it’s trying to break free from its cage. “I... I’m glad we met.”

But even as the words escape my lips, panic engulfs me. My instinct is to put distance between us, to keep him at bay where he can’t breach the walls I’ve painstakingly built around my heart.

Yet there’s something about Cal that makes resistance futile. Despite all the past heartbreaks screaming warnings, all I see are green flags with this man. I’m drawn to his charm, kindness, and humor.

He steps closer, his right hand gently cupping my face. His touch sends a jolt through me, and I hold my breath as he leans in, our lips mere inches apart...

A startling sound pierces through the night, jolting me back to reality. “What in the world was that?” I step back with a gasp.

Cal chuckles and shakes his head. “Just the red deer stags having a bit of rough play. They’re like rowdy boys leaving the pub.”

I let out an unsteady laugh while trying to slow down my galloping heart rate.

The moment has passed, but the lingering electricity between us is palpable—something shifted tonight.

“Well, I should probably hit the sack,” I mumble almost inaudibly.

“Early start tomorrow.”

Cal nods without breaking our eye contact. “Aye, of course. Sweet dreams, Mills.”

A grin tugs at the corners of my lips, my fingers brushing against the cold metal of the gate. “Night, Captain,” I toss over my shoulder.

As I wander up towards my charming sanctuary, I can practically feel Cal’s gaze burning into my backside. He’s watching me until I become a shadow swallowed by the cottage’s welcoming embrace.

Once inside, I slump against the closed door, its peeling paint cool against my heated skin. My heart is pounding like a drum solo at a rock concert, and it refuses to slow down. It’s clear to me now: whatever comes next will flip my world upside down and shake it for loose change.

But instead of dread creeping in, this buzz of excitement zips through every cell in my body.

It’s been ages since I felt this... alive?

Purposeful?

Whatever it is, it feels like I’ve finally found where I’m supposed to be, smack dab in the middle of an adventure in Scotland with a man who wears his shoes like he wears his heart—on his sleeve.