Page 36 of The Scot Who Loved Me (A Scots Through Time #3)

Chapter

Twenty-Three

H arper stood at the edge of the burn, washing the blood from her hands.

Sunset painted the western sky in strokes of amber and crimson, while to the east, darkness gathered beneath heavy clouds.

The cold water numbed her fingers as she scrubbed, watching rusty swirls disappear downstream.

Some stains lingered beneath her fingernails, remnants of the day’s work among the wounded.

Distant pipes wailed across the darkening landscape, their mournful tune drifting from the Jacobite camp where men celebrated their victory.

Fires dotted the hillside, their smoke mingling with the scent of roasting meat and whisky.

The sounds of triumph seemed far away as she knelt by the water, alone with her thoughts.

Her mind whirled with possibilities. William believed her now.

He’d seen the battle unfold exactly as she’d predicted, the Highland charge breaking through the English lines in minutes, the soldiers fleeing in terror, Sir John Cope himself abandoning his men.

She still doubted whether they could change such a huge moment in history.

Culloden. But perhaps they could save those important to them?

Or they might fail spectacularly, altering events in ways she couldn’t predict.

The water rippled suddenly, though no wind disturbed the surface.

She sat back, her hands still, the water dripping off them as the surrounding air changed.

A chill crept across her skin despite the mild autumn evening.

The distant sounds of celebration faded, as though muffled by an invisible barrier.

“Ye’ve come far from yer ain time, lass.”

The voice behind her belonged to an old woman, yet it carried power that made the hair rise on Harper’s arms. She turned slowly, water droplets pattering onto the stones at her feet.

The old woman stood on the bank, her silver hair wild around her weathered face. She wore a cloak of dark wool that absorbed all of the fading light. Her eyes reflected nothing, deep pools of shadow that had witnessed centuries pass.

“You,” Harper whispered, recognizing the woman who had given her the key at Prince Charlie’s cairn and led her to the map. “You’ve been following me.”

A smile creased the ancient face, revealing surprisingly strong teeth. “Following? Nay. Guiding, perhaps. Watching, certainly.”

“Who are you?” Harper rose to her feet, water streaming from her fingers.

“Ye ken fine who I am.” The old woman’s gaze pierced her. “Ye’ve read of me in yer books, heard tales whispered in the dark.”

Realization dawned slowly, impossible yet undeniable. The memory surfacing from an old story her college roommate told her. “The Cailleach,” Harper breathed. “The goddess of winter. The old woman of the stones.”

“Goddess?” The Cailleach laughed, a sound like ice cracking on a frozen loch. “Such grand names mortals give to what they dinna understand. I am the keeper of seasons, the guardian of passages.” Her eyes narrowed. “The watcher of time’s river.”

Snowflakes began to fall around them, though the sky remained clear overhead. They melted as soon as they touched the ground, impossible apparitions in autumn’s mild air.

“You sent me here,” Harper said, understanding blooming like frost across glass. “You opened the way between my time and this one.”

“Aye, I opened a door.” The Cailleach circled her slowly, appraising. “But ’twas yer own longing that pulled ye through. Ye stood at the threshold of two worlds, and yer heart chose this one before yer mind could object.”

“Why me?” Questions tumbled through her thoughts. “Why now? Why this time?”

The Cailleach stopped before her, close enough that Harper could smell peat smoke and winter winds in her clothing.

“Some souls are born out of their proper time, lass. Yers has always belonged here, though fate placed ye elsewhere.” She gestured toward the distant camp.

“And his has always sought yours, across the centuries.”

“William,” Harper whispered.

“Aye, the mapmaker. The warrior with a gentle heart.” The ancient eyes softened momentarily. “His path and yours were meant to cross, though time itself stood between ye.”

Night had fallen completely now, the stars emerging above them like scattered diamonds on velvet. The snowflakes continued to fall in their small circle, defying nature, defying reason.

“But now ye stand at another crossroads.” The Cailleach’s voice grew solemn. “The victory yer man celebrates will lead to destruction, as ye well know. The wheel of time turns toward Culloden, toward blood soaking the moor, toward the death of the old ways.”

Harper nodded, the knowledge heavy in her chest. “I’ve told him what’s coming. We want to change it.”

“Change.” The word hung in the air between them. “Some threads of fate cannot be cut, lass. Some events must come to pass, no matter how we rail against them.” The Cailleach’s gaze grew distant. “But others... others may be rewoven.”

Hope fluttered in Harper’s chest. “Which is Culloden? Fixed or changeable?”

“That I cannot tell ye.” The old woman’s face remained impassive. “The great turnings of history have many paths leading to them. Change one, and another may take its place.”

Frustration welled within Harper. “Then what good is knowing the future if I can’t change it?”

“Who says ye cannot?” The Cailleach raised an eyebrow. “But every change has consequences, lass. Save one life, another may be lost. Prevent one battle, another may rage fiercer. The balance must be maintained.”

The night air grew colder still, their breath forming clouds between them. In the distance, an owl called, its cry echoing across the silent landscape.

“There is another matter we must speak of.” The Cailleach’s voice lowered. “Yer place in this time is not yet fixed. The door between worlds remains open, though narrowing with each passing day.”

Her heart stuttered as she froze, like a deer caught in a car’s headlights late at night on a windy road. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, daughter of another century, that ye must choose.” The Cailleach extended her gnarled hands, palms upward. “When tomorrow’s dawn breaks and lightning strikes the great oak on the ridge, ye may return to yer own time. If ye wish it.”

“Go back?” She had tried everything and hadn’t been able to. “Why would I want to?”

The Cailleach’s smile held ancient wisdom. “In yer time, the woman who betrayed ye has been discovered. Yer work is recognized, yer place in yer world of science restored. Ye could return to claim what was stolen from ye.”

Images flashed behind her eyes. Sarah’s face as her deception was exposed, vindication sweet as honey, her research celebrated as she had always dreamed. The life she had built, the career she had sacrificed everything for.

“Or ye may stay,” the Cailleach continued, “binding yer fate to his, to this land, to this time. But know this. If ye choose to remain, the path forward is uncertain. I cannot promise ye happiness, or even survival.”

“And if I go back?”

“Then this becomes but a dream to ye. The memory will fade, as all dreams do upon waking. Ye will live yer life, in yer own time, among yer own kind.”

“Without William.” The words felt like stones in her mouth.

“Aye, without him. For some loves are not meant to span centuries.” The Cailleach’s eyes grew distant, filled with an ancient sorrow. “I once loved as ye do now, with a heart so full I thought it would burst. I defied time itself, bent the very laws of nature to keep him by my side.”

“What happened?” She asked softly, sensing the weight of tragedy in the old woman’s words.

“The gods are jealous of their power, lass. They took him from me, not in body but in spirit. Now he wanders, knowing me not, while I watch through endless winters.” The Cailleach’s face hardened. “Such is the price of defying fate.”

A warning, then. Harper hugged herself against the supernatural cold. “Is that what will happen if I stay? Will William be taken from me?”

“Perhaps. Perhaps not.” The Cailleach shrugged. “The gods are fickle, and time is a river with many currents. I offer ye the choice, nothing more.”

“Some choice,” Harper murmured. “Stay and face unknown dangers, or go back to a life that now seems empty.”

“Is it empty?” The Cailleach challenged. “Or is it simply different? Ye were content before ye came here, were ye not? Passionate about yer rocks, yer science, yer discoveries.”

Harper couldn’t deny it. She had loved her work, found meaning in uncovering Earth’s secrets. But that life now seemed colorless compared to the vivid reality of William’s touch, his voice, his presence.

“Show me,” she whispered suddenly. “Show me what awaits in each future.”

The Cailleach studied her for a long moment, then nodded once. “Look into the burn, daughter of stone.”

Harper knelt beside the water, which had gone still as glass despite the breeze that rustled through the heather. The Cailleach’s reflection appeared beside her own, and the old woman passed her hand over the surface.

The water rippled, then cleared to show a sleek modern laboratory.

Harper saw herself, hair pulled back neatly, examining core samples through a microscope.

Her future self looked focused, respected, surrounded by colleagues who deferred to her expertise.

She watched as this other Harper published papers, received awards, advanced human knowledge.

A life of the mind, of accomplishment, of satisfaction.

The scene shifted. An apartment overlooking a city skyline, tastefully furnished but impersonal. Her future self returning home alone, night after night, touching photographs of Scottish landscapes with wistful fingers before turning away.