Page 38 of The Scot Who Loved Me (A Scots Through Time #3)

Mist wrapped the battlefield in a shroud of pewter and silver, dulling the clink of distant morning swords as the first light slipped sideways beneath the clouds.

Harper pressed her palm to the bark of the ancient oak, breath puffing in small, shaky clouds, heart thundering as if it belonged to someone else—someone braver, or perhaps more foolish.

The grass underfoot was slick with dew, and every step sent tremors up through her bones.

Sleep had not come. All through the night, visions danced behind her eyes.

The white sterility of laboratories, the silent ache of an empty flat, William’s rough hand in hers, firelight flickering in a small cozy cabin.

She moved restlessly, drawn again and again to the edge of the encampment, unable to bear the closeness of the tents, the dreams she could never return to.

The world she’d known felt thin as parchment, as if her roots had already grown deep into Scottish soil.

A rustle through the bracken behind her, and she turned to see William, hair unbound, falling in tangled waves across his shoulders, eyes blue as steel in the half-light.

He carried a plaid draped over one bare arm, kilt hem damp with dew.

Without a word, he settled her shawl around her shoulders, hands lingering a moment near her throat.

“Och, lass, ye should nae wander out in this chill, mo nighean donn ,” he murmured, the endearment rumbling in his chest.

He searched her face as though to memorize her features. Every freckle, every worry-line, every trace of uncertainty.

“The world’s quiet this morn,” he murmured, voice rough, the edges softened by sleep and something like hope.“Or perhaps we’re too loud inside ourselves to hear it.”

A bittersweet smile flickered over her lips. “I’m not sure I’ve ever been this quiet or this loud at once,” she admitted, laying her hand atop his.

Night still pressed at the edges of the landscape, but the sky bled pink over the eastern hills.

Beyond the trees, the camp stirred. Men’s voices muttered, boots thudded across the earth, the whiff of peat smoke and sizzling fat drifted on the air.

Yet here by the oak, time seemed to hold its breath.

He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, fingertips tracing the curve of her jaw. “Whatever choice ye make, I’ll count myself blessed for the loving I’ve had.”

His words, low and certain, wrapped around her like another quilt. “I’d beg you to stay. But I would never chain you, mo chridhe .”

Her throat tightened, and she looked away, blinking hard as a raven cried from the branches above.

“I don’t want to leave you. I just—” She swallowed, searching for words.“I don’t want to trap you in a doomed cause or lose myself trying to fix what can’t be changed.”

He shook his head, gaze steady as the mountain lochs. “Yer not the sort for traps, lass. Nor am I dull enough to believe love spares us from pain. But it gives us reason to meet it head-on.”

He hesitated, then caught both her hands between his.

“We’ll shape what we can, and face the rest together. If ye choose me.”

He pulled her close, kissed her soundly, then stepped back. “I will wait until ’tis done, whatever choice ye make.”

The wind shifted, and a thin curl of snow, impossible, silent, spiraled through the branches, dissolving on her cheek. A hush settled over the clearing, heavy and expectant.

Lightning flickered on the horizon, and a minute later struck the great oak with a crack that trembled through the soles of her boots. She felt the pull then, a wrench at her chest, as if fate itself thumbed a scale, the opening of the portal a sudden ache in her bones.

Harper lifted her chin, plaid clutched around her even as her hands shook and her knees threatened to give way.

“I choose to stay. No matter the cost.” Her voice rang with certainty, clearer than she had ever felt behind a lectern or a microscope.

“I belong here, with William. And if there’s anything I can do, any soul I can save, any joy I may carve from the storm, I’ll do it. For him. For this land. And for myself.”

The voice came on the wind. “So be it. But remember, love is the wildest magic, and the oldest curse.”

A final sweep of wind, sharp with the bite of winter, and the world returned to normal, the frost on the grass vanishing.

Tears streamed down her face, but laughter, too, a wild, unsteady, hopeful thing.

The breath whooshed out of her as William crushed her to him, his lips fierce and tender against her brow. “Ye stayed, Mo gràidh , ’tis you that make this place home.”

She clung to him, heart racing not with fear but with possibilities. The horizon brightened, gold and rose pouring over the hills. Somewhere, a lark trilled. The clangor of camp life rose behind them. Shouts, laughter, the thunder of boots. The world beckoned, uncertain and glorious.

Hand in hand, they turned south, away from the battlefield, toward the tents where their friends, family now, she thought, waited. Plans would need to be made. There would be danger and hardship. Their futures unspooled like new-mapped rivers. But as William pulled her close, she found her courage.

“Are ye ready, mo nighean donn? ” he said softly, mischief glinting in his eyes. “Ready for a new adventure?”

Unable to speak, she nodded.

Beyond the ridge, Angus’s bark of laughter rose above the clatter of the morning pots, followed by Callum’s low whistle, soft as a summer wind, threading through the bustle of waking men.

And the Highlands, raw and eternal, echoed her joy.

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed The Scot Who Loved Me. Next up in my Knights Through Time Romance series, is Chef’s Kiss , about a snarky food blogger and a knight with a secret spice stash.

Then, in my Scots Through Time Romance series, is the next book in the series, Once Upon a Scot , where you’ll travel to the Caribbean and meet Madison and Brodie (yes, it’s his turn). I hope you love them both.