Page 37 of The Love Leap (Timeless Love Chronicles #1)

Chapter Thirty-Five

The MacDowells’ cozy inn and tavern has been transformed overnight into a makeshift command center.

Robust Scotsmen nonchalantly swing their swords like they’re flicking through their social media stories, their grumbles bouncing off the time-worn stone walls.

Having taken on the role of a battlefield nurse, Fiona is patching up their wounds (a few of them accidentally self-inflicted) with a wonderful mix of sternness and humor.

The air is heavy with a smoky aroma that would be utterly romantic if it were billowing from a beachside bonfire. But when it’s spewing from hastily lit torches in what was once my favorite pub? Not quite as charming.

As I grip the sword Cal tossed my way earlier, the cool metal against my palm is like a shot of espresso, pumping pure adrenaline and courage into my system. This isn’t just a hunk of metal—it’s a tangible sign of Cal’s trust in me—his trust in us.

“Hey! Listen up!” I scramble on top of a stack of whisky barrels and holler over the din. “Our future depends on this fight! We have to unite to kick these Campbell invaders to the curb! Teamwork’s our secret weapon!”

My words slice through the noise. Our makeshift team—Fiona, her sister Elspeth and their badass girl gang in trousers and boots, Alistair and Fergus rocking clan kilts and brandishing shiny swords, even the stable boys armed with pitchforks—they all spin towards me with sparks of determination flaring in their eyes.

Well, what do you know? I’ve rallied them. Not too shabby for a 21st-century woman dumped into Early Modern mayhem, wearing combat boots and double-denim.

As we start arranging our troops into some semblance of strategic formation, Cal pops up beside me again, seemingly unfazed by the surrounding pandemonium. Alistair thrusts another sword into Cal’s hand.

“Glad tae see ye haven’t bolted,” he grunts in his thick brogue. “Thought ye might’ve legged it back through that portal last night, leaving us tae clean up yer mess.”

Cal lets out a belly laugh. “And miss out on all this excitement? Nah... beats another night binge-watching Netflix!”

Alistair shakes his head, looking utterly confused as he tousles his hair.

“Ye’re a strange one, lad. But I’ll admit, there’s something about ye that’s oddly endearing.”

Alistair slaps Cal on the back before we join Fergus and gather around the main table. Pouring over rudimentary maps and brainstorming tactics, it becomes clear that while our brave crew outside fends off the enemy forces, our role is to strategize from within to secure victory.

Hours slip away until dawn breaks; the morning’s first rays illuminate our group and signal that it’s time to move. Fueled by unity and the thrill of an impending battle, we’re primed to confront whatever challenges the new day—and Gregor’s troops—may hurl at us.

As we step out of the tavern onto the battlefield, I glance at Cal. His strong profile and how he carries himself in the family kilt give me courage and send my heart racing.

Suddenly, Cal bellows a warning:

“On yer left!”

He lunges forward to intercept an attack aimed at me. Swiveling around with my sword held high, I’m instantly squaring off against one of Gregor’s strongest warriors. He towers over me like a menacing mountain; his eyes glint wickedly as he swings his sword.

“Witch!” he sneers.

I grip my weapon tighter, attempting my best “resting bitchface” glare.

“Well, well,” I retort with faux nonchalance while internally freaking out, “Looks like someone ditched Etiquette 101.”

His response is a snarl and a blade slicing through the air towards me.

I parry just in time; the jolt travels up my arm like an electric shock.

We’re locked in a deadly dance now: swords clashing together in an orchestral display of steel against steel.

Sweat trickles down into my eyes, but there’s no chance I’m backing down.

“Ye fight well, fer a woman,” he grunts, his hot breath fanning my face.

Oh, it’s on now.

“And you don’t fight half bad... for a Neanderthal.”

A chuckle escapes me. Then I muster all my strength and give him a good shove. He stumbles back but recovers faster than I anticipated, his eyes narrowing into slits as he starts circling me like some big cat eyeing its dinner.

The battlefield around us is complete chaos. In the thick of the turmoil, I glimpse my allies. Their expressions, etched with firm determination, hold steady against an opposing force that appears ready to swallow us whole.

Fiona is in the thick of it, her sword flashing as she takes on three hulking brutes who look like they ate boulders for breakfast. But she’s not backing down. Her quick wit and nimble footwork are enough to keep them at bay.

Then there’s Alistair. His kilt and shirt—once pristine white—are now splattered with blood and dirt. But he’s not fazed; instead, he rallies our forces with a voice that booms across the battlefield.

“Hold yer ground, lads! We’re not lettin’ these ruffians take what’s ours!”

His words ignite a spark in our troops. The MacDowell clan roars in approval, their spirits lifted by Alistair’s unwavering leadership.

Caught up in the spectacle, I let my guard drop for just a moment too long. My opponent seizes his chance and lunges at me; his blade grazes my arm before I can dodge out of the way.

I suck in a sharp breath at the sting of cold steel slicing through my skin. Warm blood begins to seep through my jean jacket sleeve, but there’s no time to dwell on it now. Thankfully, it’s only a surface wound. Can’t stop now. This cave dweller is going down!

“Is that all you’ve got?” I taunt, my voice laced with bravado. “I’ve had paper cuts that hurt worse than that. ”

The warrior’s face contorts with rage, and he redoubles his efforts. Our swords keep colliding, the metallic ring echoing through the air as we both vie for control.

My muscles are screaming at me, crying out for a break, but I can’t afford to give them one. Not now. A fierce determination, born from my love for these people I’ve come to care about so deeply, keeps me going.

In the end, it’s not my sword that saves me. It’s my right boot.

As the warrior lifts his blade for what could be a fatal blow, I kick out, catching him square in the chest. His eyes widen in surprise and he stumbles backward, his weapon clattering to the ground.

I seize the golden opportunity and press my sword against his throat.

“It’s quitting time.”

My voice comes out surprisingly steady given how much adrenaline is pumping through me.

The warrior’s gaze is intense as he glares at me. There’s so much hatred there it’s almost tangible, but his body betrays him. He’s simply too tired to keep fighting.

Feeling a surge of emotions, I watch as he crumbles to the ground, his shoulders slumping in surrender. Relief and empathy wash over me, but there’s no time to linger in my moment of victory.

With an immediate pivot on my heel, I dash off to where my friends are still knee-deep in battle. I’m determined to help because, let’s face it, we’re stuck in this mess together until someone figures out how to create a time-travel app.

Honestly, though, who knew swinging a sword could give me a better workout than my spin class? Calorie burn for the win!

As the sun climbs high in the sky, casting long shadows across the battlefield, the momentum of the battle shifts in our favor.

As the morning's high-energy chaos slips into a tense afternoon lull, Fergus's bagpipes wail through the air—his not-so-subtle way of spooking the Campbells—while swords clash in the distance.

When the sun starts to go down, painting the sky with streaks of orange and purple, a sense of uneasy calm settles over our side of the field.

The air grows cooler, and the shadows lengthen, signaling the approach of night.

As darkness wraps around us again, flickering torches illuminate our weary faces.

The moon hangs low in the sky, a ghostly presence barely piercing the blanket of stars. Its once-bright glow has dwindled to a whisper of light, casting a faint, almost ethereal shimmer over the battlefield.

So that’s it. Cal and I can forget about a quick escape back to Wi-Fi and takeout food .

But hey, at least the MacDowells are starting to give the Campbell bullies a run for their money. Gregor’s goons are pulling back, their numbers dwindling under our relentless attack.

TBH, it’s not exactly a champagne-popping moment.

Wounded men are being hauled off, their faces twisted in pain. Bodies of those who didn’t make it litter the ground, staring blankly at the sky.

But even in this nightmare, I see glimmers of hope. Fi is over by the tavern, playing nurse to the wounded with her healing touch. Alistair’s clapping his men on their backs, his eyes gleaming with pride and gratitude.

My gaze skates across the battlefield—all clashing steel and gut-wrenching screams—until I spot Cal in all the pandemonium. He stands tall, a Highlander superhero, sword raised high as if challenging the Gods to a duel.

But then everything turns into slow motion, and time seems to freeze.

An enemy warrior who looks more like a grizzly bear than a man lunges at Cal with lethal intent. His blade slices through the air towards his heart, and my breath catches in my throat.

The sword plunges into Cal’s chest with an awful sound that makes my stomach churn. I feel like I’m being stabbed right along with him. He widens his eyes like he never saw this coming—like he never imagined he could be this vulnerable.

His knees buckle beneath him like they’re made from origami instead of muscle, and he stumbles backward onto the blood-soaked earth below.

His sword slips from his hand and hits the ground with an echoing thud that sends chills down my spine. He’s among the fallen warriors now, just another casualty on this battlefield from hell. But he’s not just another casualty— he’s everything to me.

No!

This can’t be happening! The sight of him lying there, so still and helpless, wrenches my heart with an almost physical pain.

A tidal wave of memories crashes over me: the awkward but hilarious first encounter when I showed up in my nightie at his capsized sailboat; the tour around his rustic farm and the village’s medieval graveyard; those snug evenings by the fire, just us and the crackling logs.

And those are our days in present-day Aven Valley.

I can still feel the warmth of his body curled around mine in our bed at the inn. I can almost hear his laughter echoing across our attic bedroom, filling it—and me—with a lightness that makes everything seem possible.

Cal isn’t just some guy I’ve fallen for.

He’s become my teammate, always valuing my opinion and including me in every decision.

His unwavering loyalty and respect for me as an equal have slowly mended my shattered trust, showing me love doesn’t have to be a battlefield; it can be a harmonious dance.

Through Cal, I’ve uncovered parts of myself I didn’t even know were there, and I’m finally starting to believe that lasting love can be more than just a beautiful dream. It can be my reality.

“Cal!”

I scream his name into the chilly night air, tears threatening to spill from my eyes. The world goes fuzzy around the edges as raw grief sweeps over me like a storm.

My Cal—my strong, brave Cal—is lying broken on the ground while life carries on like nothing’s wrong.

The sight shatters what’s left of my heart into a million shards.