Page 2 of The Story of his Highland Bride (Dancing Through Time #4)

2

W ith her last thoughts fixated on dying alone in the middle of nowhere, it came as something of a surprise to Eloise when her eyes opened, and there was a cloudy, gray sky above her. No winged greeting party or pearly gates, though she didn’t really believe in the cherubs and harps variety of afterlife anyway.

“Ow—” she hissed as, slowly, she sat up and touched the throbbing lump at the back of her head. “Way to go, Eloise. Let’s go out into the Highlands, hey, wander around some rocks and smack your head on one, and then drive home with a concussion. Doesn’t that sound like fun?”

Grabbing part of the drystone wall, she hoisted herself to her feet and took a moment to catch her breath and wait for the dizziness to fade. Still, she was alive. Her heart still beat in her chest, her lungs were sucking in crisp, cold air, and the pain in her head was real enough. Only the memory of what had happened was foggy, too strange and inexplicable to be the truth.

It must’ve been an old Halloween decoration, she told herself, remembering the loud boom and the odd whispering and the way her hand had gotten stuck. I’ll have to put in a complaint to someone, get them to remove it before someone else gets hurt.

Wondering if there was a visitor center or staff hut somewhere nearby, where she could lodge said complaint, she finally turned her attention toward the rest of the cairn site.

Squinting in case her splitting headache was messing with her eyes, she scanned her surroundings, struggling to get her bearings. By her reckoning, the parking lot should have been behind her, through the small stretch of trees, and there should’ve been a road passing the ancient burial ground on her left. But neither of those things were where they were supposed to be. In fact, neither of those things seemed to be there at all. And the gravel path that led into Clava Cairns was gone, replaced with an overgrown dirt track, barely visible.

“It just looked different in the storm,” she told herself, sliding out of the keyhole shape of the cairn.

Convinced she was concussed or worse, she walked back to where she knew the parking lot had to be. But the longer she walked, the quicker she realized that the small coppice of trees that she’d come through wasn’t a small coppice at all. It was a certified woodland, densely packed with sycamores and horse chestnuts and a bunch of other trees she couldn’t recognize without the handy guide she often used when she was writing her novels.

As for the parking lot—if it was there somewhere, Mother Nature had swamped it. The road, too.

“Did I come out the wrong way?” she muttered, turning back.

Traipsing into Clava Cairns once more, she headed to the opposite end, past two other circular cairns. As she went, she took out her phone, but the flimsy bar of signal had gone entirely. Not even the network showed up on the screen, or the usual “emergency calls only” when she was out of range, just a flashing battery that was nearly dead.

“Perfect,” she grumbled, though she doubted calling the emergency services out there would have worked anyway. “What would I say? Oh, I hit my head and can’t find my car. They’d think I was just another drunk and leave me to sober up.”

When the other end of Clava Cairns bore no fruit—and no road or car either, just endless forest—Eloise had to stop and reconsider her situation. She was already lost, unable to find any path or track that led back to the cairns, and trying to return to where she’d started seemed like a recipe for disaster. It was cold, and getting colder, with evening drawing in. She’d lose the light soon enough, and she didn’t fancy spending the night out in the wilderness with a coat that was woefully inappropriate for a Scottish winter.

“Someone is screwing with me,” she decided, since every other possibility made her want to curl up in a scared ball. “The same person who put that trick panel on the stone is messing with me.”

She thought about it until it made perfect sense. There were probably bored teenagers or anti-English locals who made a hobby out of terrorizing tourists. When she’d banged her head on the stone, they’d likely panicked and carried her off to some other place, some other nearby cairns, so she’d be far away when she woke up, and wouldn’t be able to press charges. Maybe, they wanted her to get lost, so she’d never make it back to anywhere with a police station.

If getting dumped two months before my wedding didn’t kill me, no idiot teenagers are going to, she decided, feeding her determination with fury once more. It was a powerful tool; it was just a shame she couldn’t use her anger to get any pages to her editor, Harriet.

“Now, she definitely is going to kill me,” Eloise considered nervously, searching the shadowed trees and picking the direction that felt like south. By her reasoning, being in the Highlands, she’d find civilization in the south.

Burying her chin in the high collar of her bright blue, wool peacoat, and readjusting the matching blue bobble hat that likely had a bloodstain on the back, she marched onward. There was nothing else she could do, not unless she wanted the tricksters to win.

The sun had gone into hiding to make room for the moon, a billion stars sprayed across the clear winter night, weaving a celestial tapestry so breathtaking that Eloise almost forgot how much danger she was in. It was the kind of night’s sky that, living in London, she’d only seen in pictures and movies. Light pollution didn’t exist out here, and if she’d just had her car to keep her warm, it would’ve been perfect.

A candy bar or the other half of the cheese sandwich she’d brought to Clava Cairns wouldn’t have gone amiss, either. After hours of walking and getting nowhere, trudging through dense undergrowth that wasn’t always as solid as it appeared, cutting her legs to ribbons on thorns and tangled roots, she was ravenous, exhausted, desperate for a sip of water… and, most of all, completely lost.

The lady at the B it belonged to a lantern, held out in the hand of a horse-back rider. Two riders, in fact, though the other was relying on the first for light.

Without thinking, Eloise stepped out into the road, forgetting everything she’d ever been taught—and had learned the hard way—about the trustworthiness of creeps and strangers.

The horse reared in fright, hooves flying out at Eloise’s face. Her arms shot up to protect her head, terrified of the startled whinnying that filled the air.

“Are ye mad?” a gruff voice bellowed, scaring her even more.

“Have ye lads in the trees, eh? Ye thinkin’ to rob us blind?” a second, more menacing voice accused, pursued by a strange grating sound.

Peeking through her clamped forearms, Eloise choked on a gasp as she saw the tip of a sword, pointed right at her. “I’m not a mugger!” she cried out. “I’m lost, and I… saw you and… I thought you might be able to help me.”

What are they doing, waving swords around? It’s a bit late in the evening for historical re-enactments, isn’t it? She wouldn’t have dared to say such a thing to either of the riders, though she doubted the sword was sharp. It was probably a prop for whatever late-night hobby the men were up to.

“Are ye daft in the head, runnin’ out in front of horses like that?” the gruffer, sword-wielding voice barked, drawing Eloise’s attention to the speaker.

Dark eyes glared down at her: two black pools of fury in the midst of the most handsome face she’d ever seen. Everything about him screamed power and raw masculinity, from the square set of his stubbled jaw and the dimple in his chin, to the almost leonine nose and carved cheekbones that could’ve sliced skin. His strong brow bore a silvery scar that cut through his left eyebrow, adding to the ruggedness of him.

Letting her eyes drink in more of him, below his chin, she noted a corded neck, and a defined collarbone that led down to a broad and muscular chest; the silhouette of it visible beneath the thin, saffron-colored fabric of an… unusual shirt. It had billowing sleeves, though she could make out the bulge of his arms; the entire garment draping in a way that flattered his impressive upper physique.

Lower still, a coarse-looking kilt that exposed the most muscular calves she’d ever beheld, and the tiniest glimpse of thighs to match.

All of a sudden, the pieces slotted into place. They weren’t re-enactors; they were just actors, likely heading to some set or other, and she was holding them up. After all, both men looked like movie stars, and as she wasn’t up to speed with popular culture, they could’ve been the most famous men in the world, and she wouldn’t have recognized them.

“I’m sorry that I startled your horses,” she said, calming herself with some steadying breaths, though even a glance at the sword-wielder’s thighs stole her breath away again. “As I said, I’m lost, and when I heard someone approaching… I didn’t think. I just knew that I had to stop you and ask for directions.”

The devastatingly handsome man withdrew his sword, sliding it back into a long, leather sheath. “Ye speak queerly. Where do ye hail from?”

He must be one of those method actors, she mused.

“I’m trying to get back to the Cairn Bed & Breakfast. I’ve been walking for hours, so it’s probably not anywhere nearby, but… it’s just outside Castleton, if you know it?”

The man holding the lantern leaned closer, shining the light in Eloise’s face. “Are ye a Sassenach?”

“A what?” Eloise replied, frowning.

The man frowned. “English. Are ye English?”

“I don’t know what that has to do with anything,” she shot back, folding her arms across her chest. “Look, all I want is to find somewhere with a phone. A hotel or a restaurant or a police station or just a bloody phone-box, if those things still exist.”

The two men exchanged a confused look, but it was the man with the almighty thighs who answered, in a terse tone. “I daenae ken what ye’re sayin’, Lass. What is it ye need?”

“Somewhere or someone with a phone. I bet one of you has one in your trailer, or whatever it is you actors have on set,” she said, taking out her phone and showing it to them before adding, sarcastically, “You know, one of these new-fangled things?”

The man drew his sword again, faster than Eloise could draw a frightened breath. “What’s that, eh?” His glare intensified. “Are ye a witch, Lass? Are ye cursin’ us in tongues, charmin’ us with that wicked stone of yers? If ye are, I’ll cut yer tongue out meself.”

Eloise dropped the phone, her gloved hands too shaky to keep hold of it. As she stooped to pick it up, praying it wasn’t smashed, she froze as she felt the kiss of metal against her neck.

Slowly, she stood back up to her full height, putting her hands up in surrender. “There are people looking for me,” she insisted, struggling to hide the tremor in her voice. “If you hurt me, you’ll never make another movie again. Come on, there’s method and then there’s madness, so just drop the act, would you?”

“What are ye sayin’, Lass? I cannae fathom a word of it, so speak plain or ye’ll regret nae takin’ me generosity while I still have a sliver of it,” the gruff, handsome man growled. “Who’s lookin’ for ye? Are ye runnin’ from someone?”

Frustrated, and close to tears with the sword’s blade nicking her neck, feeling less like a prop with every pressing second, Eloise clasped her hands together. “I’m trying to be found. I went to visit Clava Cairns, I hit my head, I got lost, and now… you’re scaring me, and I don’t understand who you are, or why you’ve got what feels like a very real sword against my throat.” Her teeth chattered with nerves. “I just want to go home.”

“And where’s home?” the man pressed.

“I… don’t know.” The first tears stung her eyes, and no amount of furious blinking could hold them back. “I don’t know where I am, and I thought you were actors, but now I’m not so sure, and I… feel sick. Please, just tell me where I can find help, if you won’t give it.”

The dangerous-looking rider eyed her curiously for a few moments, before withdrawing his sword for the second time. “What’s yer name?”

“Why do you want to know?” she wheezed in reply, feeling dizzy.

“The healer at the castle always asks questions when someone has hit their head, to see if they’re thinkin’ right,” the man explained, rather reasonably.

Eloise frowned. “Oh, I see. Well then, I’m Eloise Longman, I’m twenty-seven, I’m a Virgo, and my birthday is September 2nd.”

“Ye bein’ a virgin is of nay relevance,” the man replied.

Embarrassment burned in Eloise’s cheeks, as she glared up at the ridiculously good-looking man. She was getting a little frustrated by his oblivious act. As if he didn’t know what a Virgo was. He clearly just wanted to wind her up, and she wasn’t exactly in the mood.

Thankfully, the man moved on with his next question. “What day is it?”

“Um… Wednesday.”

The man nodded. “What’s the year of our Lord?”

“What year is it?” She snorted. “It’s 2016.”

The man’s brow creased as he shook his head. “Nay, Lass, it’s the year of our Lord, 1701.”