Page 25 of The Love Leap (Timeless Love Chronicles #1)
His quiet intensity paints a picture of the bloody conflicts that have shaped these Highlands over centuries. Despite my uneven breath and trembling, clammy hands, I hold onto every word.
“The Macdonalds and Campbells… the Mackenzies and Frasers... they’ve all spilled blood on these hills,” he says gravely. “And now Gregor and Malcom Campbell seek to claim what they believe is rightfully theirs.”
The full weight of our predicament hits me like a punch to the gut. This isn’t some bar fight gone awry; it’s a centuries-old feud, and we’ve landed smack-dab in the middle. My timing is as impeccable as ever.
Above us, the symphony of mayhem plays on, each crash and cry sending icy tendrils of fear spiraling through me. How long can we stay hidden here before they sniff us out? And what happens when they do?
I glance down at my trusty combat boots, drawing an odd sense of comfort.
Just yesterday, I’d quickly stopped at the cobbler to retrieve them and wriggled back into them, my feet protesting against the constant torture of those thin-leathered monstrosities they call boots here.
Strangely enough, no one bats an eye at my unconventional choice of footwear for this era.
Slipping back into them feels like a lifeline to who I am and where I hail from.
Alistair must pick up on my terror because he gives my shoulder a comforting squeeze.
“Dinna worry, lass,” he murmurs soothingly.
“We’ll unearth a path from this muddle.” His words are meant to reassure me, but as footsteps echo closer and the cellar door creaks ominously above us, I can’t help but wonder if our luck is about to run its course.
Fiona’s warm hand slips into mine. “Amelia,” she says firmly, her voice cutting through the tension. “Ye’re one of us now—we won’t let anything happen to you.”
I nod gratefully even though words fail me at that moment—how do you explain that you’re not just some lost tourist but a time-traveling author with zero business being here?
Suddenly, Fergus, our unofficial lookout by the cellar door, turns to us grimly. “They’re coming down the stairs,” he warns.
Cal’s eyes dart around the cramped space, desperately seeking an escape route.
“There’s a tunnel behind those barrels,” he starts, but his words are cut off as the cellar door opens with a deafening crack.
I freeze, my heart pounding like a war drum in my chest as armed men swarm into the room, their swords glinting ominously in the dim light.
“What’s this?” A beast of a man bursts into the room. From how he swaggers in, it’s clear he’s the head honcho, Gregor. He looks at me first, his dark eyes boring into mine.
“What’s this? A Sassenach spy?” He smirks, twirling his sword like a toy.
I part my lips to argue, but my voice has taken a sudden vacation. Panic surges up my throat, threatening to strangle me.
Cal moves in front of me like a human shield.
“Back off. She’s not yer problem.”
Gregor chuckles, and its sound grates on my nerves.
“I beg to differ. Anyone who hangs out with the MacDowells automatically earns enemy status with the Campbells. And enemies... well, they need to be handled.”
He points his sword at Cal, the blade dancing dangerously close to his neck. I want to scream, but instead, I desperately rack my brain for an escape plan.
There has to be a way out of this mess—I’ve been stuck in plenty of tight spots before and always found a way out.
This realization fuels a small flame of confidence that chases away some of the cold fear gnawing at my insides.
Thoughts of home and everyone depending on me give me strength—especially Lila!
Boy, she’s going to have a freakin’ field day when she hears about this!
Just as Gregor is about to make Cal’s head roll—quite literally—Alistair springs into action. He shares a frenzied look with Fiona before stepping forward, his voice booming with unexpected authority.
He positions himself between Cal and our oversized adversary, hands raised in surrender. “Hold yer horses,” he says smoothly, sounding more like a butler than ever. “I’m just the bartender here—but I know where they stash the good stuff.”
The burly Campbell scrutinizes him suspiciously but seems swayed by Alistair’s confidence. A ripple of interest spreads through him and his dumb goons at the mention of quality whisky.
“Show us, lad,” Gregor grunts, his voice as rough as sandpaper. “But if ye’re lying... well, let’s just say ye’ll be a head shorter.”
“Right this way,” Alistair says, and—much to my amazement—they follow him—every single stupid one of them.
The echo of the invaders’ footfalls recedes into the distance, leaving a vacuum of silence that chills my bones. My breath is trapped in my chest, held hostage by a sliver of hope that we might dodge this bullet. Cal’s hand sneaks into mine in pitch black, his fingers lacing through mine.
“I think they’ve cleared off,” he murmurs, his voice barely more than a breath against my ear. “Now’s our shot to bolt.”
I bob my head in agreement. “Lead the way. I’ve got your back.”
We inch through the gloomy tunnel like mice avoiding a cat, Fergus and Fi shadowing us closely. The passage spirals upwards and spits us out under the kitchen, where it opens onto an aged trail leading up the knoll to what I recognize as the MacDowell family farmstead.
Just as we embark on our uphill climb, the pub’s back door explodes open with a crash loud enough to wake the dead. Rival clan members pour forth like an angry hornet swarm, their eyes ablaze with rage.
“There she blows!” one shouts, jabbing his finger toward me.
His fellow clansmen give him confused glances.
“What? It sounded right before I said it,” he shrugs, unfazed by their puzzled expressions.
Before I can even blink or breathe or think of running away, rough hands grab me from behind, yanking me away from Cal and our friends. I shriek and kick like a wildcat caught in a trap, but these men are too powerful and unyielding.
“Mills! No!”
The anguish in Cal’s cry rips through me as he lunges forward, trying to reach me, but finds himself restrained by the intruders, their swords drawn and gleaming in the moonlight.
Cal’s face—etched with desperation and terror—is the last thing I see before I’m hoisted and tied onto the back of one of the men’s waiting horses.
The animal bucks, startled by my sudden weight, and then we’re off, thundering into the inky night.
I glance over my shoulder and see more of the enemy clan behind me, untying and mounting Alistair’s and Fergus’s horses and spurring them into a gallop.
Hot tears streak down my cheeks as the inn dwindles into a speck behind us. I have no idea where they’re taking me or what they plan to do with me. All I know is that I’m alone, and I’m terrified.
And somewhere behind me, Cal and our friends can only watch helplessly as I vanish into the black abyss, my fate now squarely in the hands of our enemies.