True to the Highlander (The Novels of Loch Moigh) Read online

  Also by Barbara Longley

  Love from the Heartland series, set in Perfect, Indiana

  Far from Perfect

  The Difference a Day Makes

  A Change of Heart

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Text copyright © 2014 Barbara Longley

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Montlake Romance, Seattle

  www.apub.com

  ISBN-13: 9781477817445

  ISBN-10: 1477817441

  Cover design by becker&mayer, LLC

  Cover illustration by Dana Ashton France

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2013916302

  This book is dedicated to dreamers everywhere. To those of you who are able to suspend disbelief and consider the possibilities, dream on.

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  EPILOGUE

  SNEAK PEEK: THE HIGHLANDER’S BARGAIN

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  CHAPTER ONE

  New York, Present Day

  Alethia Goodsky gave all things supernatural a wide berth—and Madame Giselle reeked of magic. The old fortune-teller often followed her around the fairgrounds, popping up whenever Alethia took her breaks—always watching. She couldn’t help but feel uneasy around the woman. Fixing a wary eye on the fortune-teller’s green-and-white-striped tent, she contemplated the two paths before her. The longer route to the parking lot meant an uphill trek all the way around the New York Renaissance Festival fairgrounds, in her gown no less. The shorter path cut the distance in half, but she’d have to pass within a foot of Madame Giselle’s door.

  A gust of wind whipped a cloud of dust into her face, stinging her eyes. She gagged on the sour smell of garbage carried by the breeze. Exhaustion tugged her toward the shorter route. As much as she loved her job at the Renaissance festival, weeks of working around the clock had taken their toll.

  Shifting the strap of the canvas duffel biting into her shoulder, Alethia started down the hill, her violin case bumping against her hip with each step. Near the tent’s entrance, she clutched the skirt of her Renaissance gown and tiptoed past.

  The sound of muffled sobs brought her to a halt. Crying?

  Torn, she listened for a moment before compassion won out over common sense. Moving the tent flap aside, she peered in. “Hello, is everything all right in here?”

  “No, it’s not.” Madame Giselle had changed out of her gypsy costume and into gabardine slacks, a cashmere sweater and a suede blazer. Riffling through her designer handbag, she resembled nothing more sinister than someone’s upper-class grandmother. She pulled out a linen handkerchief and turned to face Alethia. “I’m glad you stopped by. Come in.”

  Alethia really didn’t want to go into that tent, but she’d been the fool who’d lifted the flap, and disrespecting an elder went against the grain. She took a tentative step forward. “What’s the matter?”

  “Oh.” Giselle blew her nose into the fancy hanky. “Someone I care about is in grave danger. I’d do anything to help.” She turned red, puffy eyes toward Alethia. “Wouldn’t you if it were someone in your family?”

  “Yes, ma’am, I would.”

  “I thought as much.” Giselle’s eyes lit up through her teary smile. Dark eyes shining with acuity and something deeper fixed on Alethia. “You grew up on your father’s reservation, didn’t you, near the Canadian border?”

  “How could you possibly know that?” The familiar prickle of unease she felt around Giselle cat-pawed its way up Alethia’s spine.

  “Not all of what I do is for show.” Giselle arched an eyebrow. “You better than anyone should understand.”

  “I don’t know what you mean.” Heat rose to Alethia’s cheeks at the lie.

  “Come now, you can be honest with me. You have…certain gifts, do you not?”

  Gifts? That’s not the word she’d use to describe her abilities. Alethia could read other people’s energy and always knew whether someone was lying or telling the truth. She’d read everything she could about ESP. Her talent wasn’t all that unique. Still, on top of being biracial, her so-called gift made it even more difficult to fit in. “I don’t—”

  “There are depths to you not yet tapped,” Giselle added as if speaking to herself. “You’d be able to survive anywhere.” Her eyes narrowed. “You have plans for the future, a carefully laid path already in the works?”

  She didn’t know about the tapping depths part, but her plans at least felt like safe territory. Alethia nodded. “I graduate from Juilliard next spring, and I already have a job lined up in Los Angeles.” Pride rippled through her. “I’ll be playing in a Hollywood orchestra that does soundtracks for movies.”

  “Sounds lovely.” Giselle smiled back. “Why don’t you sit? That pack looks heavy.”

  “I can’t stay. My ride is waiting.” Alethia stepped back, and the air in the tent became charged with an unfamiliar tension. Magic. Giselle’s image blurred and shifted as if it had been superimposed over another’s, more ethereal and insubstantial. Alethia’s heart beat inside her chest like a fly trapped in a glass jar.

  She blinked, and the ordinary grandmother in gabardine came back into focus. Not possible. It’s exhaustion, that’s all. Alethia took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

  “Stay for a moment.” Giselle pointed toward a rickety chair set close to an equally shabby table. “I thought of you while packing my things.”

  Alethia frowned as her legs carried her toward the chair. She didn’t want to sit, much less stay, but she couldn’t seem to turn herself around to march out that door. “You thought about me?”

  “Oh yes. I’ve been thinking about you for a very long time.”

  “A long time? This is the first festival we’ve ever worked together, and we’ve never even had a conversation. How—”

  “Time is relative, Alethia, and completely malleable for one such as myself.”

  What the hell does that mean? Despite her desire to bolt, Alethia stayed planted where she was. Giselle mumbled to herself while she rummaged through a plastic bin full of her fortune-telling paraphernalia. Alethia shuddered as she listened.

  “Ah, here it is.” Giselle turned back with a pendant on a gold chain dangling from her hands. The charm was an animal effigy made of Celtic knots with a green stone mounted in the middle. “You’ve been so kind, stopping by to cheer me up even though I’m a stranger to you. I want you to have this.” She slipped the pendant around Alethia’s neck.

  Alethia traced the intricate design with her finger. The knots formed the image of a crane. Among her father’s
people, the Anishinaabe, she belonged to the Crane clan. “It’s beautiful, but I can’t keep this.” She lifted the chain over her head to return it. “It must be worth a fortune.”

  “It’s yours.” Giselle caught her hands and pushed the pendant back down around Alethia’s neck. “This was crafted in the Highlands of Scotland eons ago. It is fitting that you should have it. Don’t you think?”

  Her mother had been Scottish, a MacConnell, but how could Giselle know so much about her life? The gold chain came to rest with unnatural warmth against Alethia’s skin. Every instinct she had screamed at her to get the hell out of there. Now. “Thanks. Can I pay you for the necklace? I didn’t really do anything to deserve it.”

  “Ah, but you will.” Giselle laughed. “I don’t want your money. The pendant is a gift.”

  Alethia grabbed her things from the ground, relieved to find that her body finally obeyed her mind. “I hope everything turns out all right with your relative.”

  “I am certain it will. Go, child. Your destiny awaits.”

  Giselle had obviously played the role of the gypsy fortune-teller far too long. Alethia’s future had nothing to do with destiny and everything to do with hard work, determination and careful planning.

  Alethia took a step toward the tent’s exit, and every hair on her body stood on end. An eerie electrical charge filled the tent, along with the distinctive scent of ozone. All the familiar sounds associated with the closing fair faded. A loud clap made her ears pop, and everything flattened in an impossible two-dimensional way.

  Pulled by a powerful current, she lurched forward. It took all of her strength to hold on to her things, and she fought to remain upright against the invisible force pressing in on her from all sides. A blur of light and color flashed by in microsecond increments. Nausea and pressure made it hard to breathe. She gasped for air, and pain ripped through her. God, she was being torn apart. I’m going to die. I don’t want to die!

  Blackness edged its way in around her as she struggled to remain conscious. No use. The vortex pulled her under.

  Northern Scotland, 1423 AD

  Malcolm leaned forward in his saddle and glared down at the well-dressed stranger asleep on the ground. On MacKintosh ground. With an important missive to deliver into his father’s hands, he had no time for problems not his own. “What devilry is this?”

  “She looks far more angel than devil,” his cousin Robley remarked. “Who could she be?”

  “She’s no’ Sassenach. ’Tis certain. Her complexion is far too dark. Mayhap she’s Italian or Basque.” Malcolm glanced at the tree line.

  “Aye, no’ English, for certes. Mayhap she’s fae. She’s lovely to look upon,” Angus murmured. “Enchanting.” He cleared his throat, and his face turned as red as his hair.

  “Nay. The fae are always fair skinned,” Galen argued. “’Tis why they’re called fairies.”

  His men grunted as they contemplated the possibilities, and Malcolm kept a wary eye on the edge of the forest. The lass wore clothing and jewels proclaiming her nobility. Where were her servants and escort? Something was amiss, and it turned his foul mood to pitch. No doubt this sleeping apparition was some new mischief conspired by fate to beleaguer him further. Between the Comyn clan’s never-ending treachery, the greedy, ruthless rule of their regent, and his parents’ expectation that he make an advantageous marriage, ’twas a wonder he slept at night.

  Was peace too much to yearn for? He scowled at the sleeping woman—another complication he didn’t need or want. His gelding stretched its neck to nose the curiosity on the ground, and a delicate hand rose to bat the disturbance away. The lass sat up and looked around in sleepy-eyed confusion, leaping to her feet when she saw him and his men in a circle around her.

  “Who are you, lady? From whence do you come?” Malcolm demanded.

  At his words, she turned to stare owl-eyed up at him. “Holy. Crap.”

  The corner of his mouth twitched up. “Where are your guardsmen and servants?”

  Her spine straightened, and her chin lifted. “They’re…in the woods.”

  Malcolm studied her. She had eyes the color of the sea on a stormy day. Hair the lustrous shade of fine sable hung in a braid down past her waist. He lost himself in fantasies of that glorious hair free and cascading down around her shoulders. She was a vision.

  Malcolm gave himself a firm shake. Her looks mattered not in the least. “Aye? What might they be doing in my woods?”

  Her eyes flew to the forest. “Um…tending to…things.”

  His men chuckled. She was a terrible liar, clearly alone and abandoned by the side of the road. This could only mean one thing. Trouble, and more trouble he did not need. “What sort of things?”

  “Very important things,” Alethia muttered. Definitely the alpha male in this barbarian six-pack, the brute confronting her radiated arrogance and authority. Sun-kissed golden hair fell to his shoulders, and a few days’ growth of thick russet beard stubbled his strong jaw. He wore nothing but a swath of wool in muted plaid draped around his body and soft leather boots that reached mid-calf.

  Where the hell was she, some kind of Braveheart parallel universe? What did that old witch do to me? Giselle’s words echoed inside her head. “Time is relative, Alethia, and completely malleable for one such as myself.” Oh my God. Did she send me back in time? Was such a thing even possible? Her head rang from the pounding of her heart, and her mouth went dry. None of this was possible, and any minute she’d wake up and find everything back to normal.

  The leader scowled down at her, his wide, generous mouth drawn into a straight line that screamed annoyed. Well, she wasn’t all that happy herself.

  Sparing a glance for the rest of his crew, she couldn’t help noticing the large swords slung over their backs and all the daggers tucked into belts and boots. She sucked in her breath and stood a little straighter. The Anishinaabe had always been a peace-loving people but also fearless when the need arose. Intending to be brave now, or at least appear to be, she clasped her trembling hands together in front of her. “Now, if you don’t mind, please move aside,” she said, clearing her throat, hoping that would get rid of the telltale quiver, “and I’ll be on my way.”

  One of the men nudged his horse forward. As dark as the leader was fair, this one gave off a bad vibe. As frightened as she was, she could still sense his malicious nature.

  “Let me take her off your hands, Malcolm. She’s a foreigner and without protection. That makes her fair game.”

  “No!” A surge of adrenaline hit her bloodstream, and she searched for a gap in the wall of horses and men. How far would her trembling legs carry her? “I’m responsible for myself and not game of any kind.”

  “She is on my land, Hugh,” the one called Malcolm replied. “That makes her my responsibility.”

  “My people are waiting for me to join them,” she bluffed, “and they’re heavily armed.”

  Malcolm snorted and scooped her up off the ground like a sack of grain. Placing her in front of him, he nudged his horse down the road. His chortling men fell in line behind him.

  “Put me down! I have no intention of going anywhere with you.” She tried to pry herself out of his hold.

  “And I have no intention of leaving you alone in the wilderness.” Malcolm’s arm tightened around her waist.

  She blinked back the tears of fear and frustration and struggled to get out of his hold. It was useless. He probably weighed more than twice what she did, and every inch of him was granite. She glanced back at her violin and duffel bag. The only links to her life lay by the side of the road, growing smaller by the second. “My things. At least let me get my—”

  “Nay, we travel in haste. I’ll no’ burden our mounts with any more useless baggage.”

  Damn the tear trickling down her cheek. “I didn’t ask you to take me anywhere. I didn’t ask for any of this.”

  Don’t panic. Think. Swiping her eyes, she took several deep breaths to calm herself. Her mind rac
ed for a way out of this mess. Thank heavens her friends had insisted she take self-defense classes after one of their classmates had been mugged.

  She forced herself to relax into his hold. His grip eased. Reaching back, Alethia placed her hands on either side of his neck below his ears. Using the pads of her thumbs, she found his pulse points and applied pressure. Within seconds his body slackened. Shoving his arm from around her waist, she slid off the horse and hit the ground running. Her captor fell with a loud thump behind her.

  Alethia snatched up her belongings and ran for the forest bordering the rutted dirt road they traveled. Thundering hooves ate up the ground behind her. She dashed into some brush and glanced over her shoulder. Damn. The dark one was after her, the one who saw her as game. Frantic, Alethia searched for a place to hide.

  Malcolm awoke on the ground to find the eyes of his cousins staring down at him. “What the devil happened?”

  “The lass, she…ah…,” Liam stammered.

  Robley reached out his hand and grinned. “The wee sorceress put you to sleep. I’ve never seen the like.”

  Malcolm took the proffered help and hoisted himself from the ground. “Where is Hugh?”

  “He went after her,” Angus replied.

  “God’s blood!” He glared at each of his men until they squirmed. “I dinna keep Hugh close because I desire his company. You know my thoughts, yet you let him go after the lass with no thought to her safety?” He leaped onto his gelding’s back. “Liam, you’re in charge. Ride ahead and make camp by the burn. I’m going after Hugh and the lass.”

  The last thing he remembered, her soft hands had brushed his neck. The next thing he knew, he awoke flat on his back in the dirt. He gave sorcery no credence and knew her actions had been physical in nature. Still, what had she done to him, and how dare she?

  Hugh had left an easy trail to follow, but there were no signs of the woman. Malcolm overtook him, bringing his mount around to cut him off. “Return to the men, Hugh,” Malcolm commanded. “They’ve ridden ahead to make camp.”