Page 32 of The Scot Who Loved Me (A Scots Through Time #3)

“Look at me.” She gestured at herself desperately. “My speech, my knowledge, the things I know about rocks and medicine that make no sense to you. The way I sometimes talk about things that haven’t happened yet.”

“Aye, ye’re strange, I’ll grant ye that.” His jaw tightened. “But a traveler through time? That’s the stuff of fairy tales and madness.”

“The Battle of Prestonpans will be fought at dawn,” Harper continued, words spilling out like water from a broken dam.

“The Jacobite army will use the morning mist as cover to cross the marsh that Cope thinks is impassable. You’ll catch them completely by surprise.

The battle will last less than fifteen minutes.

The English forces will lose over three hundred men, but the Jacobites will lose fewer than thirty. ”

William stared at her, his expression shifting from disbelief to something darker. “How could ye possibly know such things unless?—”

“Because it’s history to me!” Her voice broke.

“Just like I know that after Prestonpans, you’ll march south into England, get as far as Derby, and then turn back for winter.

And in April of next year, at Culloden, the Jacobite cause will be utterly destroyed.

Thousands of Highlanders will die, and those who survive will see their way of life systematically dismantled by the English. ”

The blood drained from his face. In the moonlight, his skin looked like carved marble, beautiful and cold. “So ye’ve been lying to us. To me. All this time.”

“Not lying,” Harper whispered. “Just... not telling the whole truth. How could I? Who would believe me?”

“Who indeed?” Bitterness edged his words. “And why tell me now, before battle? To weaken my resolve? To plant seeds of doubt?”

“Because I love you!” The words tore from her throat.

“Because I can’t bear to marry you with this secret between us.

Because after tomorrow’s victory, you’ll ask me again, and I want to say yes more than I’ve ever wanted anything.

But how can I build a life with you based on secrets when I know what’s coming? ”

Tears flowed freely now, hot tracks down her cold cheeks. He stood motionless, his shoulders rigid beneath his linen shirt.

His scent filled her nose. Heather, wood smoke, and something uniquely him, a cruel reminder of the intimacy they’d shared just hours before.

Her body betrayed her, still yearning to close the distance between them even as his expression hardened into something unrecognizable.

Her fingers tingled with the phantom sensation of his skin, her lips still holding the memory of his kiss.

“So ye claim to know our fate,” he finally said, his voice low and dangerous. “That we’re doomed no matter what we do. That all our fighting, all our sacrifice, is for naught.”

She swallowed hard. “History says so. But maybe... maybe it can be changed. If you don’t go to Culloden?—”

“If I run like a coward?” William’s eyes flashed. “Abandon my clan, my oath, my prince?”

“So you live!” Harper cried. “We could go to America, start a new?—”

“Enough!” His voice cut through the night like a blade. “I dinna ken what game ye’re playing, or why. Perhaps ye’re ill. Perhaps ye truly believe ye have the sight.”

He stepped back, creating a chasm between them that felt wider than the centuries separating their births.

“But I’ll not be swayed from my duty by wild tales and hysterics.”

His words sliced through her like Arctic wind.

Sharp, brutal, leaving her breathless. Her chest constricted, heart pounding against her ribs as if trying to escape the pain.

The space between them, barely two feet of Scottish soil, might as well have been the three centuries that truly separated them.

“I trusted ye.” His voice had gone terribly quiet. “Protected and defended ye. Opened my heart to ye. Asked ye to be my wife.” A muscle jumped in his jaw. “And this is how ye repay that trust? With lunacy and prophecies of doom on the eve of battle?”

“I’m trying to save you,” Harper whispered.

“I dinna need saving.” William straightened, every inch the Highland warrior once more. “Least of all by a woman who canna tell truth from delusion.”

He turned to go, his broad shoulders silhouetted against the moonlight filtering through the trees.

“William!” she called after him, desperation making her voice crack. “Please don’t leave like this. Not before the battle.”

He paused, but didn’t turn. “Rest. Ye’re clearly overwrought.”

And then he was gone, swallowed by the darkness between the trees, leaving her alone with the night and the weight of centuries pressing down upon her.

She sank onto the faerie stone, its surface cold through her skirts, and buried her face in her hands. Sobs wracked her body, painful and raw. Everything she’d feared had come to pass. He thought her mad or lying. She’d lost him before she’d truly had him.

Time passed, measured only by the slow wheel of stars overhead and the gradual quieting of the camp in the distance. Eventually, her tears dried, leaving her hollow and exhausted. She raised her head, looking at the sky through swollen eyes.

What had she expected? That William would simply accept her impossible story? That he would abandon everything he believed in based on her word alone? She had no proof to offer, nothing but knowledge that sounded like either treason or insanity.

“What the hell,” Harper muttered, climbing unsteadily to her feet. She stood on the flat stone, feet planted shoulder width apart. The fairy stone. Closing her eyes, she lifted her face to the stars. “I want to go home.”

The wind whispered through the heather, cool against her tear-stained cheeks. Nothing else happened. No disorienting shift, no flash of light, no storm, and no reprieve from this heartbreak.

She opened her eyes to the same eighteenth-century Scottish night, the same distant flicker of campfires where men slept before tomorrow’s battle.

With a defeated sigh, she stepped off the stone, her legs stiff with cold.

The camp had fallen mostly silent now, preparing for tomorrow’s bloodshed.

She should rest too, prepare herself for what was to come.

But the thought of lying alone with her thoughts was unbearable.

Instead, she walked, following the edge of the encampment until she found a small rise overlooking the darkened landscape.

Somewhere out there across the marshy ground, Sir John Cope’s army slept, unaware that their position had fatal flaws.

That the Highland army would cross the supposedly impassable bog.

That by this time tomorrow, many would be dead, and the Jacobite cause would seem unstoppable.

A temporary victory on the road to ultimate defeat.

Harper hugged herself against the chill, watching as clouds scudded across the moon. She’d done what she thought was right, revealed her truth, unburdened her conscience. But at what cost?

The sound of approaching footsteps made her tense, but it was only Angus, his red hair visible even in the dim light.

“Ye shouldna be wanderin’ alone,” he said gruffly. “Not with enemy patrols about.”

Harper didn’t respond, turning back to her contemplation of the distant darkness.

The stout man shifted uncomfortably. “William’s in a right foul temper. Nearly took my head off when I asked what was troubling him.” He paused, studying her face. “I reckon ye might know the cause.”

“We had a disagreement,” Harper said tonelessly.

“Must have been some disagreement.” Angus settled beside her, offering a flask. “Whisky? Might warm ye a bit.”

Harper accepted, taking a small sip. The liquor burned a path down her throat, warming her from within. “Thank you.”

They sat in silence for a time, passing the flask between them. The wind picked up, carrying the scent of heather and peat.

“Ye know,” he finally said, “William’s been different since ye came. Lighter somehow. Like a man who’s remembered there’s more to life than vengeance and duty.” He glanced at her. “Whatever quarrel ye’ve had, I hope ye’ll mend it. He needs something to fight for beyond ghosts and old grudges.”

Harper’s throat tightened. “I’m not sure that’s possible now.”

“Och, women and their dramatics.” Angus shook his head. “Anything can be mended with enough will and whisky.”

Despite everything, a small laugh escaped her. “Is that Highland wisdom?”

“Aye, passed down through generations of MacGregor men who’ve put their foot in it with their women.” He reclaimed his flask. “Whatever ye said to him, he’ll cool off once the battle fever’s on him. Men think clearer with a sword in hand, strangely enough.”

Harper wished she could share his optimism. “And if he doesn’t? If what I’ve done can’t be forgiven?”

Angus considered this, taking another swig. “Then ye fight for him, anyway. Because that’s what love is, aye? Fighting for someone even when they’re being a stubborn arse.”

The simple wisdom of his words penetrated her despair. She’d told William the truth not to hurt him but because she loved him enough to be honest, no matter the cost. Perhaps that same love demanded she keep fighting, keep trying to save him from what history said would come.

“You should get some rest,” she told Angus. “Tomorrow will come early.”

“Aye, it will.” He stood, stretching his back. “You too, lass. Battlefield’s no place for the weary.”

After he left, she remained on the hillside, watching as the eastern sky imperceptibly lightened. The coming dawn would bring blood and glory for the Jacobites. But beyond that, beyond Prestonpans, beyond the initial victories, lay the long, inexorable march toward Culloden and disaster.

Unless she could change it. Unless she could find a way to rewrite history without destroying the man she loved in the process.

Harper rose as the first birds began to stir, their tentative songs heralding the approaching day. Her heart felt raw, her eyes gritty from tears and lack of sleep. But within her, a new resolve had taken root.

William might not believe her now. He might never forgive her for what he saw as madness or betrayal.

But she would not abandon him to the fate history had written.

Whatever happened in the coming battle, whatever came after, she would fight to create a future history had never recorded, one where she knew for sure that William MacGregor survived.

She turned back toward the camp, where men were beginning to stir, preparing for the battle to come. The Highland army would win today, just as the history books said. But after that?

After that, Harper was determined to rewrite every page.