Just Wait For Me (Highland Gardens Book 3) (2 page)

“Damned little man.”

She marched back to where her pack still lay on the ground
and grabbed it. Jerking the straps over tense shoulders, she glanced at the
tree. Strange. There were no face-like images embedded within gnarly wood, just
a face-sized cavity marring the bark.

Engrossed in the conundrum of the tree, a sound coming from
behind froze her in place.

* * *

September, 1513

The Caves of the Gray Women in the wilds of Scotland

There wasn't a spot on Stephen's black and blue body that
didn't hurt. The battle had been a bloodbath. Although his wounds weren’t too
serious, he ached everywhere.

And his leg—’twould be awhile before it healed. Would he
ever be able to walk again without aid? That was the question, wasn’t it?

He huffed out a breath of frustration and leaned back
against the rock wall of the cave. His memory burned with the haunting sight of
his dead monarch. Stephen had never expected events to unfold as they had. King
James IV of Scotland, dead on the battlefield beside so many of the kingdom's
finest warriors.

After lying unconscious among the dead, Stephen had managed
to escape the chaos of the field with the help of Munn, the MacLachlan Clan brownie,
and found shelter in the caves of the Gray Women. Or so he was told. Stephen
didn't remember how they'd managed the feat, how he’d traveled such a great
distance with a damaged leg, but here he was, hidden away from those who'd wish
him ill.

He’d learned quite a while ago not to be shocked by events
involving the fae.

Stifling a groan, he shifted the injured leg trying to find
a comfortable position. He stiffened at the sound of footsteps approaching and
clutched a dirk at his side. ’Twas only Munn. Stephen dropped the blade and
slumped back against the wall.

“What have you there, wee man?” He reached for what Munn had
procured. His fingers skimmed over an unusual shiny cloth. “What the devil?
Where did you get this bewitched
plaide
?”

Munn quickly looked away. An uncomfortable dread ran through
Stephen. The brownie scraped a foot in the dirt. Stephen's teeth chattered so
he wrapped the strange cloth around his upper body. Whether from witch or fae,
he was cold and needed any warmth the strange
plaide
could provide.

“Tell me, Munn? Where did you get this?”

“Forest.”

“Who did you steal it from?”

“Borrowed.” Blue-green eyes flashed. “There be a lass in the
wood. Dressed as a lad.”

“What were you thinking? We dinnae want to be discovered.”
Stephen swallowed uneasily. How long had it been since the battle? Had English
soldiers infiltrated north? He had no way of kenning. “Is the wench English?
Are English soldiers nearby?”

“Nae Sassenachs.” Munn curled his body away and looked over
his shoulder at Stephen with pursed lips. “Lass foreign. Like Lady Laurie.”

Stephen inhaled sharply.
Like Lady Laurie?
Was it
possible? “You best fetch her here.”

“’Twould be a mistake.”

“Why?”

The brownie shrugged and stared at his feet.

“Do as I say. Bring her here. But be careful. We dinnae want
the wrong sort to find us.”

With a deep grumble, Munn scurried out of the cave.

Stephen scrubbed the stubble on his chin. Could another time
traveler have appeared at the
Sithichean Sluaigh
, the faerie mound near
Castle Lachlan? If so, how would she have gotten here? ’Twas quite a distance
from Strathlachlan.

Hmmm
. Would the lass be as intriguing as Lady Laurie?

Unnerved by the snap of a twig, Jillian spun around only to
stop short and gawk. Four pairs of eyes stared at her from little faces
resembling those she’d imagined within the tree. The boys, dressed in tatters,
seemed to range in age from eight to twelve.

“What the…” she stammered. “Who are you?”

The pudgiest and perhaps oldest of the four, with deformed
fingers on his right hand, stepped forward; the others huddled behind as if
frightened. “We saw you appear from…naught. Be you one of the
Sithichean?
”

The strange little man had asked the same question.
Crazy
.
There were no such beings as faeries.

“I’m Jillian O'Donnell. I’m lost.”

The child didn’t seem convinced. His bulbous nose scrunched
up tight, lips pressed together, and grimaced. “But—”

“You dinnae answer his question! Be you one of the
Sithichean
?”
A little girl Jillian hadn’t noticed—a fifth child, no more than six years
old—poked a head from behind the others. “You dress funny. Like a lad.”

“I’m nothing more than a lost traveler.” Jillian smiled at
the little one, trying to hide her shock, hoping not to spook the girl. “I’m
dressed for warmth.”

The child made a distorted O-shape with a horribly deformed
mouth then ducked out of sight. Jillian bit her lip as not to smile at the
quick retreat.

“Who are you and your friends?” She directed the question to
the pudgy fellow who seemed to be the leader of these poor misshapen children.

He just stared until he stumbled forward a step. He threw a
glare over a shoulder at the other children, who took a tentative step back.
“Stop poking me.”

The boy with an unusually long nose and wisp of blond hair
dangling into rounded hazel eyes raised his chin and pointed at the pudgy lad.
“We call him Blaney.”

“Yeah, and he’s Cam.” Blaney pointed toward a boy with scars
across his forehead and different colored eyes—one bright blue, one dark
brown—then to a lad with a head that seemed too large for his child-sized body.
“And he’s Mack.” Blaney then nudged the boy who first introduced him. “This
daft lad is Duff.”

“And what is your name?” Crouching to appear smaller, less
threatening, Jillian addressed the little girl.

The child lowered her head and scraped a dirty, bare toe in
the dirt, muttering into her chest. Though bold with her question before, she
now acted shy.

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t hear you. I’d like very much to know
your name.”

A soft moss-green gaze peered at Jillian, melting her heart.

“We call her Keita because she is of the wood,” Blaney said.

“Keita is a very nice name.” Jillian smiled at the
blonde-haired child.

The girl giggled and ducked behind one of the boys.

This is crazy
. Jillian didn’t have time to waste with
these ragamuffin children. But the little girl wearing rags on her feet instead
of shoes on such a cold morning wrenched her heart. Still… No. She couldn’t get
involved. She needed to get unlost, find Kyle, and convince him to forget the
rest of the cycling trip and head home.

“Do you live nearby?” she asked.

The children looked at each other, but didn’t answer.

Okay
. “Can you direct me to the nearest town?”
Jillian posed the question to Blaney.

The boy seemed confused. A queasy feeling gnawed at her
insides. Perhaps the little man told the truth. Was it possible there were no
towns nearby? She hadn’t checked a map before embarking on this vacation. She’d
left navigation for the trip up to her brother.

“We can take you to someone who can help,” Duff said.

“Who?”

“The Gray Women.”

The other three boys shook their heads vehemently in the
negative. Jillian had the feeling meeting the Gray Women wasn’t a good idea.

Keita clapped hands in glee. “Aye, aye, let us go to the
caves of the Gray Women.”

An image of three gray-haired hags smoking corncob pipes
hunched over a still, making moonshine popped into Jillian’s head. After all,
she was in the wilds of West Virginia.

“Mayhap Caitrina will be there,” Keita said dreamily.

Jillian’s unease compounded. Had she smelled Caitrina’s
unique perfume, that cloying oriental scent, just before stumbling into the
cave—or whatever it was? Could Caitrina have been on the bike trail? Why? And
why would she have shoved Jillian?

She smiled at Keita. “Who is Caitrina?”

“A
Sithichean
princess.”

Back to faerie tales. The child wasn’t referring to
Jillian’s business partner Caitrina.

Keita took hold of Jillian’s hand. “Come. The Gray Women
will help you. They help all lost souls.”

* * *

Present Day

Grandfather Mountain, North Carolina

Far below the mountain trail, a red SUV crawled along the
Blue Ridge Parkway. Stopping, crawling, stopping, crawling. Probably leaf
peepers or bear gawkers.
Pfft
. “What do you think of the stupid humans?”

Tristan released a shrill
kak kak kak
, lifted one
claw then the other, moved his head from side to side, and shrugged a wing
before settling again on Caitrina’s leather-gloved hand.

“Exactly. Seeing the world through a window rather than
experiencing life.” Caitrina shook her head, frowned, and slid her gaze over the
fireworks display of autumn foliage, letting it settle on the Village of
Anderson Creek nestled in the valley below Grandfather Mountain.

Hopefully the tourists would at least stop in the village
and spend some serious money in the garden center and restaurants, and perhaps
even stay a night or two at the B&B. The villagers could certainly use the
income. The local businesses still suffered from the downturn in the economy.

One of many reasons Caitrina hoped not to belong to their
ilk much longer. As a
halfling
—half-human, half-fae—she’d never needed
money. That was until the banishment by the Queen of the Fae, and resulting
punishment, forced Caitrina into life-long service to Mairi MacLachlan,
proprietor of the Whispering Pines Inn along with her husband Iain. They and
two of their children were time travelers from sixteenth century Scotland
living in a modern world.

Anderson Creek was known for an eccentric cast of local
characters so the time travelers fit in just fine. Caitrina—not so much. In the
past, the clan system kept her clothed and fed. The modern world, however, had
many expenses. Aye, she was an owner, along with Jillian and Laurie, of
Foxgloves
,
a popular garden center, but her greatest wish was to return to
Tir-nan-Og
and live among other faeries.

And that is where she’d go as soon as the queen’s challenge
was met. Orchestrate three nearly impossible love matches and she’d be free.
Two were complete.

Caitrina inhaled a heavy breath. She must proceed carefully.
The queen enjoyed their game far too much and was prone to cheating.
Originally, Oonagh refused to disclose the identity of the next unlikely
couple, but finally the potential lovers were revealed. Caitrina already set
the match in motion. That’s why she needed to return to early sixteenth century
Scotland in all haste. She couldn’t trust Munn to oversee the meeting and
mating. Besides the wee brownie was unaware of Stephen’s potential mate.

Tristan nudged her nose with his beak.

“Right. Time is wasting.” Caitrina continued up the trail
toward the high meadow. She had pressing matters to attend. Wind buffeted them
as they cleared the trees and strode out into the open. The bird fussed, eager
to dance in the sky.

“I will miss you.” She hesitated then released Tristan to
the wind. “Fly safe and true, my friend.”

The peregrine falcon rose on thermals and soared out of
sight. Caitrina crossed her arms in a self-hug, already feeling the loss. ’Twas
best he fly wild and free until spring when he would head for northern climes.
She was needed in Scotland past.

As she wandered toward the trail heading down the mountain,
alarm hummed over her skin. Someone watched. Unnerved, she thought to vanish,
but then she wouldn’t learn who or what flaunted such intent interest. Trying
to appear nonchalant, she scanned the meadow, the rocks, the forest edge, and
froze in awe.
What the
…

She closed a gaping mouth and stared.

The silky black stallion reared up on hind legs then
galloped away, disappearing into the forest, though not before Caitrina
glimpsed the single horn protruding magnificently from the center of the
animal’s broad forehead. Couldn’t be. Wasn’t possible. Unicorns only existed in
Tir-nan-Og
. Faerieland. Land o’ heart’s desire. There were rumors, of
course. Stories made up by the local storyteller, Mr. MacNaughton, more than
likely. Faerie tales meant to amuse children.

Caitrina rubbed tired eyes, feeling deflated. Dealing with
the queen’s matchmaking challenge made her daft. Made her see things that
didn’t exist. She needed to complete this match and win the game. If only
Jillian and Stephen would cooperate.

A large hand clamping on her shoulder made her jump. As she
partially faded into the vanishing, a unique scent of earth and wind and animal
musk invaded her nostrils. Ah. Said hand belonged to Douglas, the proprietor of
the
Celtic Image
shop in the Village of Anderson Creek, and her
sometimes lover. The grip tightened on her shoulder, and she jerked back to
solid form. She didn’t dare bring him along to the past, which would have
happened if he touched her.

’Twas bad enough he’d learned her secret.

“Easy, lass. Didn’t mean to spook you.”

“As if you could.” She’d never admit she was so preoccupied
that he could sneak up on her. She spun to face him and stepped out of reach.
He looked good. Too good. More handsome than any human male had the right.

Unusually tall at six-foot-seven, he towered over her as no
other. Long black hair pulled back in a queue brought attention to a
penetrating amber gaze and clenched, clean-shaven jaw. He wasn’t happy.
Tough
.

As usual, he wore a predominately red and green plaid kilt
low on his hips, with a badger sporran at the waist. He hadn’t donned a shirt,
which tempted her to stare at his muscular chest. She clasped her hands
together, stopping eager fingers from petting the smattering of dark hair.

Annoying man
. She hated that his mere presence made
her wet and needy. Would be hell if he learned the effect he had on her. She
assumed her best glower. “What are you doing here?”

“Looking for you.” He stepped forward, crowding her space.

She held her ground. “Of course. What do you want?”

“To stop you.”

Caitrina’s mouth went dry. He couldn’t possibly know what
she planned. “What are you talking about this time?”

“I ken where you plan to go. There’s nae point. You can’t
win. She won’t let you win.”

“What are you talking about?” Caitrina bit the corner of her
lip.

“The queen. No matter what you do, the queen will have her
way.”

Today was full of surprises and none of them good. A shiver
ran over her spine. What did he ken of the fae queen? The challenge? Caitrina
couldn’t let Douglas get involved. He was mortal. He could be fatally hurt.

“What do you think you ken?” She swallowed uneasily.

“The queen will not let you win the challenge.”

“I dinnae ken what you are talking about.”

“Aye, you do. You must let me help.”

His strong features softened, the concern for her welfare
more potent than a lust-coated faerie dart embedded in her heart. Of all the
worst things that could happen, she’d fallen in love with Douglas MacKinnon.
A
mere human
.

Crushed by the illumination, Caitrina vanished from the
mountain, traveling through space and time to the early part of sixteenth
century Scotland in a panic. How could she protect Douglas
and
win the
queen’s challenge?