Highlander's Bride: Medieval Romance (The Fae Book 1) (4 page)

Such sadness swirled within her heart, made it beat sluggish and slow. Her fingers and toes went all icy and numb. She squeezed her eyes shut and forced the dreaded emotions away. Plodding around the keep all maudlin and sorrowful would never do, not when word would soon spread of her betrothal with Duncan. Her kin needed to see her contentment, and Duncan deserved naught less than her full acceptance of their coming marriage.

“Would you care for some tea, my lady?” One of the maids set a bowl of oats before her.

“Aye, that would be wonderful, with a good spoonful of honey, please.” Smiling at the maid, she curled her hands around the underside of the bowl of oats to warm her fingers.

“I’ll be but a moment.” The maid swished away, her dark hair bundled up under her frilly cap and her apron ties swaying down to her knees.

“What are your plans for the day now you’re about to be a wedded woman?” Gordon shoved a bacon rasher into his mouth.

“I’d like to take a swim.” That would certainly help clear the gloominess from her thoughts and rejuvenate her spirit. They’d left summer behind and autumn had well and truly taken ahold, winter a mere breath away, but she would take this opportunity to set her thoughts in order and a swim always did that.

“You’ll need a guard. I’ll take you to the loch myself.”

“I dinnae mind going on my own. It isnae too far.” She often walked the short distance to the pool without any issue, although with the blood feuds currently raging across the land and more enemy warriors about, such unease consumed them all. From the jug in the center of the dais, she added a dash of milk to her oats and ate a spoonful.

“I’ll come with you. I cannae have Duncan tossing me into the dungeons for no’ ensuring your complete care.”

“Here ye are, my lady.” The maid returned and set a cup of tea before her and she thanked her before she bustled away to serve the men at the closest table below their platform.

“How soon do you wish to go?” More bacon stuffed in his mouth, along with a slurp of his drink.

“As soon as possible, if you dinnae mind.” She finished her meal, bid Gordon to await her by the postern gate and hurried upstairs to collect a few things from her chamber.

Plaid draped over one arm and a bar of soap and a drying cloth stuffed into her satchel, she hiked back downstairs and across the inner courtyard to where Gordon stood at the gate, his chainmail sparkling in the sunlight.

He motioned for her to go first and she skipped past him as the sun rose higher and warmed the earth. Across the open meadow, she tramped then ducked into the forest. She weaved in and around thick bushes before finally emerging at her favorite pool. The loch, small, secluded and surrounded with towering trees, offered a haven of respite and provided her with all she loved most about the Highlands, nature and all its abundance.

“I’ll wait back along the trail to give you your privacy. Holler out if you need any aid and I’ll come.” Gordon vanished within the thickness of the trees, a snare in his hand. He’d hunt while she bathed.

Assured she remained alone, she loosened the front laces of her midnight-blue gown and wriggled the velvet over her hips. It shimmered to the ground and she stepped out of the pool of fabric, kicked her slippers off and curled her toes into the lush grass. With her shift’s skirts brushing her legs, she picked up the bar of soap and stepped around the loch bordered by the odd protruding boulder and bounded up onto the ledge rimming the far edge.

Oh, how she’d adore a swim without any encumbrance, even that of her shift. She rocked from foot to foot. Sunlight streamed through the trees and dappled over the grass dotted with yellow flowers and the odd scrub of heather. Gordon had left and it wasn’t as if anyone else was nearby. She also adored the sensation of the water flowing over her bare skin and once under the darkened surface, none could see below. Grinning, she set the soap down on the stony ledge, whipped her shift over her head, dropped it and dove into the dark depths of the pool.

Chilly water washed over her and she gasped at the icy shock. Oh, how invigorating. She burst to the surface and laughed as the freedom of being so at one with nature rushed through her. This was exactly what she needed to raise her spirits and as the sun rose higher, she dipped and dived within the glorious water before floating on her back. Aye, she’d make the best of what she’d been given, and marrying Duncan would ensure her true heart’s desire, that her parents lived. All that mattered was their survival. Always and forever.

* * * *

Never would Ronan Matheson allow Kyla to remain beyond his touch, not for another day. Over eight-hundred years in the future, he sat inside Tavish Matheson’s medical rooms on the second floor of Ivanson Castle, the doctor a fellow kinsman he now considered a good friend. With the finishing touches almost complete to his face, he awaited the final transformation in his disguise.

The day before one of the lasses at the keep had trimmed his shoulder length hair to within a spiky inch from his scalp. She’d slapped on a thick black paste, let it sit for a while then told him to wash it out. He’d bent over a basin of flowing water, rinsed his hair then when he’d lifted his head and caught his reflection in one of the massive looking glasses of this time, his golden locks were gone. Midnight-black hair reigned. Miraculous.

This morn he’d even shaved his thick beard away, one he’d had for a good number of years, since the day it had first grown in at six and ten. He stroked over his jaw, the unusual smoothness of his shaven skin grating on him. “’Tis like I’m a lad again, Tavish.”

“You’ll get used to being without the beard, and it might pay for you not to catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror just yet, particularly if you’re having trouble adjusting to the changes. I’ve been able to knock a good decade off by removing every single wrinkle you had.” Tavish set his instruments down on the tray and pushed back on his padded stool with its wheels that rolled across the white tiled flooring.

Everything in Tavish’s medical room was white, from the white-sheeted bed he sat on in the center of the room to the white painted walls, cupboard doors, and curtaining. The stainless steel benchtop was all that broke the clean color apart, and what an incredible benchtop it was. So finely crafted, and within those cupboards, well, Tavish had brought out so many new and astounding things that had aided him in his full healing this past month. Truly incredible.

This twenty-first century and all he’d discovered within it had both surprised and enthralled him. Although a recent trip into the village in one of their fast-moving wagons had near halted his heart from beating. An SUV Tavish had called it. Fully enclosed, the wagon of steel had sent them careening along a road of black tar with fierce speed. When he’d pressed a button and the window of sheer glass had rolled down, he’d half heaved over the side to find out where it had gone. Tavish had chuckled and hauled him back in.

Aye, if he could survive a journey in one of those speedy conveyances, he could certainly survive the change to his appearance. He nodded at his clansman. “I’d like to see what you’ve done. Make certain all is well.”

“As you wish.” Tavish pulled off his gloves, riffled through a drawer and pulled out a compact, flipped the cover open and exposed a looking glass tucked safely away inside. “I can’t imagine anyone who met you at Carron Castle during your captivity will ever be able to identify you now. You’ve healed well this past month, your injuries all but gone, even the whip marks on your back.”

“Och, hell.” He almost dropped the compact. His lips looked as if bees had stung them, repeatedly, an enticing look on a lass for sure, but not on a hardened warrior. Every wrinkle he’d had around his eyes and forehead had vanished. It had taken him years to gather those marks of age. Gaping, he muttered, “What have you done, Tavish?”

“I’ve used Botox where needed. What it does is weakens the facial muscles so the wrinkles disappear, although it’s temporary, the effects lasting about three to four months. I’ve also added some filler to your lips, and a touch to your cheekbones as well.”

“Oh my.” Annella walked in, her mouth wide open. “Is that you, Ronan?”

“Aye, scamp.”

“You look”—she arched a brow as she wandered around him—“different. Very different.”

“Will Duncan MacKenzie or his warriors see the real me through this disguise?” His younger sister would tell him the truth. She always had.

“Even I hardly recognize the real you.” She stopped in front of him, cupped his cheeks and gently ran her fingers back and forth along his jaw. “Your skin is as smooth as a baby’s bottom. I had no idea you could look so very handsome. No more beard for you.”

“I liked my beard.” He gritted his teeth, covered her hands with his then couldn’t help but smile at his dearest kin. His sister, now a newlywed with a husband from this time who adored her beyond all reason, lived both here in the future and in the past. “Where’s Alec?”

“My mate is training in the yard, as I too should be.” Annella had grown up fighting right alongside him and Father, all three of them warriors through and through. In her black leather pants, billowy-sleeved blue tunic and sword gleaming at her hip, she popped a kiss on his forehead. “I shall miss you while you’re gone. I expect you to find your mate and return with her, with all haste.”

“I shall do exactly that, and at least I’m leaving you in the best of hands with Alec.” He slid off the bed, his kilt brushing his knees as he clasped Tavish’s forearm. “I thank you for all you’ve done. ’Tis a miracle you’ve worked for me.”

“You’re most welcome. You’re free to leave whenever you please and track down your chosen one. There’s no need for more checkups.” Tavish grasped his forearm in return. “I wish you a safe journey and a most enjoyable hunt.”

“I shall never cease chasing my chosen one, no matter how far she attempts to roam from me.” He pulled on his billowy black tunic, tucked the hem under the belted waist of the MacKenzie tartan Annella had purchased for him from a store in the village. He grunted. Donning the enemy’s colors grated on him, but he’d need to wear this plaid or else be discovered for who he truly was. At least he had a viable reason for arriving dressed as a MacKenzie warrior at Carron Castle. During his imprisonment, he’d learnt Coll was away on a mission to secure more warriors to his and Duncan’s cause and he intended to offer his sword arm once he arrived. Men had been arriving daily at the keep during his imprisonment. Aye, he’d do whatever it took to claim Kyla, even pose as a MacKenzie.

“You’re a Matheson, no matter what kilt you wear.” Annella scooped his sword from the end of the medical bed and passed it to him. “Never forget that.”

“Are you reading my mind again?”

“Dinnae I always?” She crossed her arms with a knowing smile. “You’re also about to correct the wrong done to Kyla when she was but a child. Giving her back the choice so brutally taken from her is all that matters. She too is a Matheson, no’ a MacKenzie. What name have you chosen for yourself?”

“Rand MacKenzie, from clan MacKenzie of Kintail.” He’d thought long and hard about what name to select before the perfect one had come to him. As a lad of eight, he’d been busy carving “R and C” into the trunk of a pine tree overlooking the cliffs near the fae village when Christina had skipped up the trail and danced around him. With her golden-red curls bouncing about her shoulders and a mischievous smile on her face, she’d tapped the trunk before he’d finished inscribing the “C” for the first letter of her name and asked him what he’d been doing. His face had gotten all hot and he’d been unable to finish the inscription, had stopped at “
R and
” then stupidly babbled to her that
Rand
was a nickname.

She’d giggled and called him Rand for an entire week and he hadn’t minded one bit, not since her happiness had brightened his heart. Even at the young age of eight, he’d known one day she would be his, but telling her then had been impossible. He’d kept the knowledge to himself, or at least he had until the day when he’d been imprisoned within the dungeons of Carron Castle and come face to face with her once more. For the past twenty years his wee Christina had been known as Kyla, and his very soul had ached for her and the loss she’d suffered.

Such a barrage of emotions had raced through him that day.

Even though cuffed and chained to the gritty dungeon wall, a rat scratching about within one darkened corner, he’d never been more in awe of the woman standing so magnificently before him. Those sweet curls of hers were even more thick and luscious than in her childhood, the color such a vibrant golden hue with strands of red woven in, her locks now swaying all the way to her bottom. The tiny freckles she’d had as a child still dusted her cheeks and as he’d looked into her eyes, he’d become lost within her stunning blue gaze. Shock and awe at finding her had swarmed him.

He’d been searching for her his entire life, had never given up the possibility of finding her, but learning the truth about her abduction had astounded him. Now, he intended on returning to the place of his imprisonment to claim her, to have her accept their bond and choose him the same way as he wished to choose her.

“I like that name. Rand is perfect.” Annella hugged him. “Promise me you’ll be careful during your hunt.”

“Always, and I know I’ll have you to contend with if I’m no’.” Sword strapped on and his wrist daggers sheathed, he pulled on his boots.

“That’s right.” She squeezed his cheeks and sighed. “I shall miss this pretty face of yours while you’re gone.”