The Highlander's Curse (2 page)

Like
that would really happen. I smiled to myself at the thought just before the guy
bumped heavily into our table.

“Whoa.
You alright there?” I stood, holding my hands out to brace one of his arms. He
was already facing me, and as his hood fell back from his face, panic-stricken,
dark blue eyes bore into mine.

He wasn’t
drunk at all. He was terrified.

“What’s
yer name?” he demanded, gripping my arms.

I shook
my head, still trying to figure out exactly what was happening. “Wha—”

“What
is yer name?” he pleaded, his thick Scottish brogue rushing from his lips.

“Scarlett.”

“Scarlett
what?”

What
the hell did my name matter? “Listen, I don’t—”

“
Please
,
lass!”

There
was something deep in his voice, deep in that dark gaze that made me pause. I
didn’t have a clue what knowing my name would help, but if it could help this
guy in some small way, I’d tell him. “Michaelson,” I stammered.

He drew
back, blinking in shock as his eyes lit on me and then stared off into whatever
void he was dealing with. And then, almost as quickly as he’d stepped away from
me, he rushed forward again, grasping my forearms hard enough that I squeaked
in alarm. “I didnae think it was true. I didnae ken…but it is. And God, lass,
ye must go. Ye must set it right.”

“Hey!”
Shannon yelled, wrenching on his shoulder. He brushed her off easily—though
that was no wonder with his size—and even ignored the other men who stepped in
to separate him from me.

I
couldn’t look away from him, no matter how hard I tried. No matter how hard my
heart beat or the way my mind screamed at me to run, I was somehow compelled by
this lunatic.

“Here,”
he said, suddenly yanking his gaze from mine. He reached into his cloak and
pulled something out before pressing it into my hands: Coins and an
old-fashioned pocket watch.

Holding
the coins in one hand, I lifted the other to inspect the watch, wondering what
the hell this guy was going on about as he mumbled hurriedly. As I peered at
the face, the secondhand
ticked backwards. And did it again. The next
two ticks went in time with my heart beat, the twin thumps somehow echoing
loudly in my ears.

Tick-tick, thump-thump.
Tick-tick, thump-thump, TICK-TICK, POUND-POUND.
HAMMER, HAMMER, HAMMER.

Now the minutes were going backwards
as well. It whipped counterclockwise faster and faster, my heart beat no longer
recognizable. My head grew dizzy as I stared, now unable to avert my eyes from
the phenomenon. Red-hot fire singed my palm and I yelped, trying to drop it
from my hand. It wouldn’t go though, no matter what I did. My hand refused to
unclasp it’s tight hold, even as I tried to pry it free with my fingers.

“…Please dinna fail. Dae ye kin
what I’ve said? Please,
ye mustn’ae fail.
”

His words reached me through my
disorientation, but they were like an echo, dancing all around me as though
they hadn’t come from one mouth—or from one direction. The burn in my hand
intensified, traveling up my arm like waves of lava, and crashing into my
heart. I screamed—or I thought I did—the sound of it rushing around me like the
echo of that pleading voice.

And then, the ground was no
longer there; the people, the bar, all gone. A black pit surrounded me,
crushing me in its oblivion.

I fell away, screaming as I
reached for everything that had just surrounded me. Shannon, the pub, the
cloaked guy, even the other patrons. It was all distorted as it shrunk farther
away from me, and then disappeared into the black distance.

****

I sat up, bracing my arms on my knees as I glanced
around, certain I wasn’t really seeing what I thought I was.

I was out in the middle of
nowhere, where nothing was in sight other than the green grass that rippled in
waves until it met up with the murky water of the lake. There wasn’t a single
house. Not even a freakin’ sheep, and I’d seen
thousands
of those since
I’d touched down in Scotland.

Alright Scar, what have you
gotten yourself into now?

Feeling grateful I hadn’t removed
it at the bar, I reached into my purse and rummaged through everything inside
until I finally felt the unmistakable smoothness of my cell phone. The screen
was lit up before I even looked down.

It was 5:43 PM and not a single
bar. No 4G. No 3G. Not even a stupid 1X.
Ugh.

I pushed to my feet, wobbling as
the heels of my stilettos sunk into the soft ground. Once I freed my shoes of
their muddy prisons, I attempted facing different directions for a signal. I
tried everything: holding it high, holding it low, holding it at an angle,
dialing out, texting, and typing a quick SOS message on my social media handles.
But after what felt like forever, I was forced to give up on trying to get even
a blip of service.

For now.

Get me out of these damn
fields, and I’ll try again, though.

I glared at the fields and the
annoyingly pretty tall grass that swayed in the wind, and at the dark clouds
that rolled in, pushing the lighter gray ones out of their way as though their
rainy purpose was far more important.

Okay, something happened at the
bar. But what? Had the whiskey been too strong for me? I wasn’t that much of a lightweight,
and most of it hadn’t even made it down my throat. But I had grown dizzy. What
if I’d been poisoned?

As I surveyed my surroundings
again, a chill started at the top of my spine and coursed through my body. That
lake looked really familiar. The shape of it, and the slope of the hills on the
other side. I powered on my phone again and scrolled through the pictures I’d
taken on my trip so far. I passed the one I’d been searching for and quickly
recalled it.

Yes, it looked the same. Minus
the city, streets, cars, people, docks, and boats. The shape of the lake and
land on the other side was nearly identical. But, there was no way could I be
staring at the same one I’d seen in Oban, could I? They might have been
identical, but where were the buildings and the roads, the docks and the boats?
Where were the
people
?

No, I can’t still be in Oban,
I thought as I slid my phone into my purse. Or at least not in the part I’d
been to. So where was I, and how had I ended up here? Shannon would have never
put up with that crazy guy running off with me.

Unless something happened to her,
too.

My heart lurched at the thought.
What if Shannon had tried to stop him and he hurt her? Or
killed
her? What
if she was out here somewhere, unconscious in the tall grass? I had no idea how
long I’d been out, and the thought of Shannon being anywhere out here—or worse,
with that guy—had my entire body strung with panic.

“Breathe Scar, breathe,” I
muttered to myself, taking a long, slow breath. I had to find Shannon. And I doubted
that would happen if I just stayed here.

I took a step and stopped when my
heels caused something underfoot to
clink
. Lying in the tall grass was
the small pile of change and the gold pocket that had burned me in the pub.
Turning my hand up, I glanced down and gasped. A light red scar raised the skin
in my palm; a sort of round, haphazard design that looked mean and ugly. What
the hell happened?

I gingerly picked them up—careful
not to touch the watch other than by the chain—and shoved them into my purse.
That bastard must have kidnapped me and dropped me in the middle of freakin’
nowhere. Asshole.

Shaking my head and mentally
kicking him in the balls, I picked a direction and went with it, stepping
through the wet grass as thunder rolled in the cloudy sky above. I didn’t even
have my stupid jacket and had to yank off my shoes since my heels succeeded in
sinking into the damp ground with every step.

Heaving myself up and over the
first rock fence I came to—which wasn’t all that easy in a short skirt—I felt a
raindrop land on the back of my thigh. To my left were some trees, maybe the
edge of a forest. I didn’t feel safe walking through the woods during a
lightning storm, but as I glanced between that and the open, rolling fields, I
opted for the protection the forest might provide. At least in there, I wouldn’t
be the tallest thing around to act as a lightning rod.

Four more drops landed on me, and
I ran toward the trees. My purse collided against my hip with every jar and my
heels banged together as I held them looped over my finger. I made it under the
shelter of the leaves just as the sky opened up, dropping sheets of rain. Some
misty drops still hit me, so I went farther into the forest and found a nice
big tree to sit under.

Freakin’ great,
I thought
as I hugged my knees to my chest. I was cold, damp, had no service, and my high
heels were gunked with mud.
Thanks a lot, asshole
. If I ever saw that
guy again, it’d be more than just a mental ball-kicking. With any luck, his
voice would permanently go up a few octaves.

Drumming my fingers on my knees,
and trying to force myself to calm, I did the only thing I could think to do: I
waited for the rain to die down. Although, if rumors of Scotland were true,
then any likelihood of that happening was pretty much nil. It could be days, or
even weeks. Okay, so waiting was out. Would I have any luck trekking it through
the forest? I’d have to eventually stumble on people. What kinds of animals
lurked in the forests of Scotland, anyway? Probably nothing nearly as scary as
what prowled the mountains at home. And with any luck, I’d pull a Lara Croft
and find random weapons, medi-packs and food lying around. I smiled to myself.
Yeah, who else would hope a shitstorm like this could turn into a real-life
video game?

I stood and headed in the
direction I’d been going before. Trekking it was the best plan to get me warmed
up and at least gain some ground in the search for civilization. As soon as I
found a house or a town, I could call the Scottish police and find a way back
to Oban, and to Shannon. Hopefully she was home. If not…well, then I’d go back
to Lorne’s Pub if I had to to get some answers. I’d call the damn U.S. Embassy
and light a fire under their asses until she was found, and until Captain Cloak
was locked away for life.

My skirt caught on the rough, dry
bark of a large fallen tree I’d just crawled over, snagging just before my feet
landed on the ground. “Son of a…” I sighed.
Dammit
.

Focus, Scar. You can take it
out on his ass as soon as you find him.
There were more important things to
do first.

I’d learned over the past hour or
so that as I’d meandered through the forest, there were only a few spots where
raindrops actually landed on me through the thick covering above. I continued
on, focusing on the
pitter-pat
of raindrops hitting the leaves, until I
picked up on another sound. Not the pounding of the rain all around me, but a
rhythmic, muffled
thudding
that had me stopping to listen better.

There was definitely something
there.

I ran toward the sound, dodging
around trees, lifting my feet higher as I rushed through the grass and vines
that threatened to take me down with every step. My feet throbbed as every few
steps landed on something sharp, and I feared looking down, knowing that they
were probably bleeding. I was getting closer to the lake, the clouded sunlight
reflecting off of it in shimmering patterns that danced through the trees.

An old-fashioned horse and
carriage came into view, and I had to stop and catch my breath from all the
running. I found some soft leaves to stand on, giving my feet a break since
they needed rest even more than my aching muscles and lungs. The horse was
pulling the buggy at a leisurely pace, and I knew I’d catch it after another
minute of running. The carriage was nothing fancy, but it looked old. What was
interesting, though, was the driver on top, dressed to the nines in old-world
clothes I’d only seen in movies. I’d heard that Scots took their history
seriously, but jeez. Who still went for rides in horse-drawn carriages?

That distraction was what I’d
needed, my aches and pains fading as I focused on the taboo of Scottish life.
The horse stopped suddenly, forcing the carriage to lurch to a halt and drawing
my full attention. Had they seen me? Stopped to help? I squinted, trying to
focus through the rain and saw the driver’s hands up in the air, the reins
still dangling from them.

What the hell?

I took another step forward and
two more fully-kilted men came into view, only these two were holding rifles
pointed directly at the driver. One fired off his weapon—a warning shot that
couldn’t have buzzed very far past me. I gasped and a hand shot around me, a
large palm covering my mouth as an arm pulled me to a hard body. I screamed,
but it hardly made any sound.

Holy Jesus, holy shit, holy
Jesus, holy shit, oh my God, oh my God, ohhhhh my God.

My personal defense training
kicked in, and I lifted my hand and shoved it backward. Contact. The man
groaned and released me with a curse, but as I shot forward, he grabbed me
again.

“
Christ
, that hurt,” he
mumbled against me as I struggled.

I threw elbows and even my head
back, trying to get free again, but he was too strong.

More gently, he added, “Shhh.
Shh, lass. I’m no’ here tae hurt ye. Be still.”

I did still, though that was more
his doing than my own. My heart threatened to leap from my chest as my heart
hammered, and I could feel that his did, too. I had to keep reminding myself to
breath, even though doing so from behind his hand made it more difficult. I
shivered, the chill of the cold seeping into my bones at the same time as did
the heat of his body. He didn’t loosen his hold on my mouth, or around my
waist. The man was holding me subdued, his breath fanning over my cheek and
neck as I looked out at the horse and carriage, and at the people who I’d hoped
would rescue me.