Page 17 of The Scot Who Loved Me (A Scots Through Time #3)

Chapter

Twelve

A s twilight painted the sky in deepening shades of purple and the celebration continued around the bonfire. Harper made her way to the stream to wash up in private. She was on her way back when William appeared out of the darkness like a ghost.

“What did I tell ye about going about by yourself?”

She rolled her eyes. “I went to wash up. No one else is around.”

He made that Scottish noise in the back of his throat, the sleeves of his creamy linen shirt bright when the moon came out from behind the clouds.

As they walked, she noticed his silence, his jaw clenched tight as if restraining some powerful emotion.

“What is it?” she asked softly. “I’ll be more careful, I promise.”

“Nay, lass. It isn’t that.” William hesitated before saying. “Thinking about Ian meeting with the English... it brings back memories I’d rather forget.”

“Of your family?” Harper ventured, recalling fragments he’d shared about his past.

He nodded once. “Captain Mercer ordered his soldiers to burn our homes, slaughter our livestock.” His voice dropped to a near-whisper. “I watched him personally put a ball through my father’s heart when he tried to protect my mother.”

Harper’s breath caught at the raw pain in his voice. “I’m so sorry.”

“Three years I’ve hunted him,” William continued, his accent thickening with emotion. “Three years tracking his movements, learning his patterns. The prince’s landing was to be my opportunity. Mercer will be among the officers sent to intercept the rebellion.”

So that’s why he hadn’t confronted Ian yet. Sure, he wanted to find out who their guide was reporting to, but he wanted revenge more.

“Revenge won’t bring your family back,” she said, then immediately regretted her words when his expression hardened.

“It’s not about bringing them back,” he replied, his voice controlled but intense.

“It’s about justice. About showing the English they cannot murder Highlanders without consequence.

” His hand unconsciously moved to the thin scar that traced his jawline from ear to chin.

“Mercer gave me this when I tried to save my brother. I mean to repay the debt in full.”

The vehemence in his voice chilled Harper. This was a side of William she hadn’t fully comprehended. The depth of his hatred for the English, the personal vendetta that drove him beyond mere loyalty to the Jacobite cause.

“And after?” she asked quietly. “If you kill him, what then?”

The question seemed to catch him off guard. For a moment, uncertainty flickered across his features. “I haven’t thought beyond it,” he admitted. “For so long, it’s been all that matters.”

Harper wanted to tell him that his vengeance would change nothing, that the slaughter at Culloden would still come, that the Highland way of life was already marked for destruction. But the words stuck in her throat, trapped by the fear of altering history and the deeper fear of losing his trust.

Instead, she simply took his hand, offering silent support she wasn’t sure she had the right to give.

“Why did ye follow Ian that first time?” William asked when they were safely away from the shoreline. “Ye could have been in danger if he’d caught ye.”

Harper hesitated, unsure how to articulate the impulse that had driven her. “I wanted to be useful,” she finally admitted. “Everyone else has a clear role here. You lead, Callum draws, Angus fights, Moira keeps us fed. I’m just... extra. The strange woman you’re all protecting.”

William stopped walking, turning to face her fully in the moonlight. “Is that truly how ye see yourself? As useless?”

“Not useless, exactly. Just... not essential.”

“Harper Ross,” William said, her name on his lips like a gentle reprimand, “ye’ve helped create maps of unprecedented accuracy that will guide our prince safely to Scottish soil.

Ye’ve spotted a spy in our midst. Ye’ve learned skills in weeks that most take years to master.

” His voice softened. “Ye’re far from ‘extra’ to this cause. .. or to me.”

The admission hung between them, simple yet profound. Something shifted in her chest, a tightening that was both painful and exhilarating.

“William, I?—”

“There ye are!” Callum’s voice cut through the darkness as he approached from the direction of camp. “We were beginning to wonder if ye’d both been spirited away by the faeries.”

The moment shattered, William stepping back slightly though his eyes remained on Harper’s face for a heartbeat longer.

“Just checking the perimeter,” he explained smoothly. “With the prince so close, we can’t be too careful.”

Callum accepted this without question, falling into step beside them as they returned to the camp. “Angus has opened the last of his private whisky store. Best hurry before the well runs dry.”

The remainder of the evening passed in a blur of celebration, though Harper found herself constantly aware of William’s presence across the fire, his eyes occasionally finding hers amid the festivities.

Something had changed between them. A boundary crossed perhaps, or a wall lowered.

The knowledge both thrilled and terrified her.

Later, as the celebration wound down and men began retiring to their tents, Harper found herself unable to face sleep. Instead, she walked to the small promontory where she often went to think, needing solitude to process the day’s events and her increasingly complicated feelings.

The night was clear, stars scattered like diamonds across the velvet sky, their light reflected in the dark waters surrounding the island. Harper wrapped her shawl tighter against the chill, her mind racing with possibilities and dangers.

The sound of approaching footsteps didn’t startle her this time, somehow, she’d expected him to find her here.

“The stars are different,” she said without turning, knowing William had joined her. “That’s one of the first things I noticed when I arrived. The constellations are the same, but they seem brighter, clearer.”

“Less smoke from cities,” William replied, coming to stand beside her. “In London, they say, the night sky is often hidden by coal smoke and fog.”

Harper smiled faintly. “That gets worse, not better, where I come from.”

The casual reference to her mysterious origins hung between them. William didn’t press, though she could feel his curiosity like a tangible thing.

“May I ask ye something?” he said after a moment.

“Of course.”

“That day on the beach, when I first found ye... ye truly didn’t know where ye were, did ye? Or when?”

The question cut to the heart of her secret. Harper swallowed hard, weighing her answer. “No,” she finally admitted. “I didn’t know. Everything was... different. Changed.”

William nodded slowly, as if confirming a theory. “I believe ye. Though it makes little sense by any measure I know.”

“Thank you,” she whispered, unexpectedly moved by his simple acceptance.

They stood in companionable silence, watching the stars wheel slowly overhead. Despite the chill in the air, Harper felt warm in his presence, as if his nearness generated its own heat.

“Earlier,” William said softly, “ye were about to say something before Callum interrupted. What was it?”

Harper’s heart quickened. What had she been about to say?

That she was falling for him despite the impossibility of it all?

That she carried knowledge that could save his life but might destroy history in the process?

That every day in this century made returning to her own time seem less appealing?

“I was going to thank you,” she said instead, taking the safer path. “For making me feel like I belong here, even when I know I don’t.”

William turned to face her, his expression serious in the starlight. “Ye belong wherever ye choose to be. And I...” He hesitated, seeming to search for words. “I find myself grateful that ye chose to be here, however it came about.”

The simple sincerity in his voice touched something deep within her. Before she could reconsider, Harper reached out, covering his hand with hers where it rested on the stone between them.

William’s fingers interlaced with hers naturally, his palm warm against her skin. The contact sent a flutter through her chest, like wings beating against her ribs.

“The prince comes tomorrow, perhaps,” he said, his voice low and intimate in the darkness. “Everything changes then. The waiting ends, and the fighting won’t be far off.”

“Are you afraid?” Harper asked, echoing his earlier question to her.

“Not of the fighting,” William answered honestly. “I’ve faced English bayonets before and likely will again.” His thumb traced gentle circles on the back of her hand. “But I fear for those I care about. For what may be lost in the days ahead.”

The admission of vulnerability from this proud Highland warrior moved Harper deeply. Without thinking, she stepped closer, drawn to him like a compass needle to true north.

“William,” she whispered, his name a question and answer both.

His free hand rose to her face, fingertips tracing the curve of her cheek with exquisite gentleness. “Harper,” he breathed, the single word carrying a wealth of meaning.

For a heartbeat, they stood suspended in possibility, the future and past falling away until only this moment existed. Then, with aching slowness, William lowered his head toward hers, his blue eyes darkening like a storm-swept Highland sky.

Their lips met softly at first, a whisper of contact that sent electricity coursing through her veins.

The gentle pressure ignited something primal within her, a hunger she hadn’t known lived in her bones.

She leaned into him instinctively, her hand rising to rest against his chest where she could feel his heart thundering beneath her palm, matching the wild rhythm of her own.