Time Travel Romances Boxed Set (47 page)

Writers Club Romance Group on AOL Reviewer
Board

“
The Last
Highlander
is a tremendous time travel tale that stars two
wondrous lead protagonists. The brisk story line will grab onto
readers from page one and not let go until the story is
complete.”

Harriet Klausner for Affaire de Coeur

“
At times humorous, at
times heartwrenching, this unique time-travel deftly combines
historical facts with a shimmering romance that defies time and
place…The resolution is simply wonderful, and I’m not going to give
it away. You will just have to read it yourself to savor the feast
Ms. Cross provides.”

Tanzey Cutter for Old Book Barn Gazette

“
Sensual beyond belief and
romantic enough to quench even the most thirsty of those who read
the genre, Ms. Delacroix scores a big ten out of ten with her
latest novel. One peek between the covers is all it takes to hook
you. An exciting delight and a marvelous read; clearly one of this
year’s best.”

Kathee S. Card for Under the Covers
Reviews

“
The best time travel I
have ever read!”

Michelle Sawyer for The Literary Times

“
A touching and
heartwarming story. Cross’s characters are easy to love and the
story is fast paced. Anyone looking to escape with a Highland rogue
will definitely love
The Last
Highlander
!”

Kemberlee Lugo for Compuserve Romance
Reviews

“
You’ll love this story of
how love can bring two people back together to give each their
heart’s desire. Splendid!”

Donita Lawrence of Bell Book &
Candle.

“
The Last
Highlander
is a delightful tale of a love that crosses
centuries.”

Lynne Remick for The Romantic Bower

“
Long after the last word,
you will bask in the afterglow of this fascinating
story.”

MT for Rendezvous

*

The Last Highlander by

Claire Delacroix

This book was originally published under the
pseudonym Claire Cross. This new edition has had only minor
corrections from the original text.

©1998, 2011 Claire Delacroix, Inc.

All Rights Reserved.

Cover by Kim Killion.

Smashwords Edition

Without limiting the rights under copyright
preserved above, no part of this book may be reproduced, stored in
or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form,
or by any means, (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording,
or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the
copyright holder and the publisher of this book.

This is a work of fiction. Names,
characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the
author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance
to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events,
or locales is entirely coincidental.

The scanning, uploading, and distribution of
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Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not
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materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

*

The Last Highlander

by

Claire Delacroix

* * *

Edinburgh Castle - March 1314

“
Have another swallow of
the old barley bree, laddie!”

“
Aye, let us see what the
lad is made of!”

Alasdair choked on the healthy measure of
whisky being poured down his throat by his gleeful compatriots.
’Twas not the first he had sipped this night and his difficulty in
focusing on the faces of those about him showed the result. At one
and thirty, he was no wee laddie, but he did not correct the old
codgers.

After all, this was a moment to celebrate!
This very night they had routed the English and claimed Edinburgh
castle for Robert the Bruce. Now, flushed with victory, they roamed
in victorious exploration of their newly gained prize.

’
Twas only a matter of time
before Robert the Bruce took Stirling Castle, as well. Then,
Scotland would be free, for once and for all, of England’s heavy
hand.

The men jostled each other good-naturedly,
peered down darkened corridors, dashed up and down twisted stairs
like children granted free rein. The goodly quantity of whisky they
had imbibed did naught to aid their collective sense of
direction.

Alasdair had just noticed that this corridor
seemed particularly dark and roughly-hewn when a voice rose from
the shadows ahead.

“
Halt all ye
trespassers!”

The men stumbled to a dumbfounded halt.
Alasdair found himself unexpectedly at the front of the awkwardly
silent pack. The two torches the men held high illuminated the
corridor with fitful orange light.

A pinched old harridan of a woman confronted
them with a boldness that belied her humble garb. Her white hair
hung tangled about her face, and her garb was tattered. Though she
looked no better than a beggar, there was an authority about her
that made a man shiver in dread.

But Alasdair folded his arms across his
chest and braced his feet against the stone. He had faced foes much
more deadly than this wraith of a woman.

“
This castle is ours!” he
declared. “’Tis fairly won and we shall do what we will within
it!”

The men muttered agreement, but the woman
shook one finger in their direction. “Morgaine le Fee will not take
kindly to your intrusion,” she hissed.

The men took a collective step back, but
Alasdair could not stop himself from snorting with scorn. “Morgaine
le Fee?” he echoed. “You threaten us with a child’s tale?”

The men gathered closer to Alasdair and
murmured approvingly.

“
Aye, a wee bairn’s tale is
Morgaine and Arthur’s fable,” said one with newfound
bravado.

“
A tale fit to frighten the
wee ones, ’tis no more than that,” muttered another in
agreement.

A roar rose from somewhere deep beneath
their feet at that moment, and made the stone tremble in a most
unsettling way. Alasdair was not the only one to glance to his
companions in uncertainty. He looked back to the woman to see her
eyes alight with a strange glow.

“
Oho!” she cried and flung
up her hands. “Morgaine’s dragon awakens! Your bold words have
disturbed its slumber and will tempt her wrath!”

“
And who might you be?”
Alasdair demanded. Even the whisky was not enough to give him
tolerance of this woman’s nonsense.

His attitude seemed to reawaken a similar
attitude in his companions.

“
Aye, and how did you find
your way here?”

“
There was no woman in our
ranks when we arrived, so you must be of the English!”

The woman’s glance was chilling. “I have no
name that you might care to say,” she intoned ominously. “And to no
country of men do I owe allegiance.” She closed her eyes and swayed
slightly on her feet. “To Morgaine alone do I pledge allegiance,
and it is she alone who summons me.”

Clearly the woman was mad.

All the same, she evidently knew another way
into the fortress that they had yet to discover. It was Alasdair’s
obligation to ensure that every passageway, however narrow, was
secured against any retaliation.

“
Enough of your haivering
about,” he ordered when his companions fell silent. “Show us how
you entered this place.”

The way the woman’s gaze locked with
Alasdair’s sent a curious chill tripping down his spine. “So, you
would meet my queen?”

“
I demand only to know your
means of gaining this keep.”

The woman smiled to display crooked and
yellowed teeth. “Then you must ask my lady Morgaine,” she said
simply and offered her hand to him in invitation.

Alasdair stared at the taut pale flesh of
the woman’s hand, not in the least bit certain that he wished to
touch her, let alone follow her.

A great rosy orb of a nose appeared close by
Alasdair’s shoulder when he hesitated. Alasdair did not have to
look to know that that nose belonged to Iain. All the same, he did
look and saw that man’s bushy silver brows working energetically up
and down, and his eyes glittering.

The man fair lived to make trouble.

“
Not afraid of witch’s
tales, are ye, laddie?” he demanded.

“
I have naught to fear from
a wee witch, if indeed she is even one,” Alasdair retorted. Though
he led these men well, Iain still liked to rile him because of his
age.

“
I, for one, would know if
we sit atop a dragon or not,” Iain declared. “’Twas you who
challenged her and you who should see the matter through.” Before
Alasdair could answer, Iain leaned closer to whisper. “Truly, if
there be no Morgaine and no dragon, ye have naught to lose. And if
there be, you might ask her the fate of our bonny land.”

Alasdair cast a quelling glance at the other
man. “Any fool knows that Scotland will soon be free again. Robert
the Bruce will see it made so.”

Iain smiled slyly. “Then naught have ye to
risk by asking.”

“
Dare you, we do,” asserted
another.

Alasdair did not have time to consider the
matter before Iain whispered a taunt. “Unless the lad is
afraid?”

“
Are you afeartie,
laddie?”

That accusation and the men’s chuckles hit a
sore point. Alasdair had never shirked his duty or covered before a
challenge, however unpleasant either might be.

And he would not begin now.

“
I am afraid of
naught
a woman might cast my way,” Alasdair snapped, certain
that this was all a bit of foolery that would cost him little. “I
shall indeed meet this Morgaine!”

The men about him crowed with delight, and a
flask of whisky was shoved into his hand. Alasdair threw back his
head and took a long draught of the fiery liquid under the woman’s
steely regard.

He heard his blood pounding in his ears as
he reached out and took her hand.

The witch’s flesh was as cold as the
grave.

Alasdair had noted no more than that before
she began to run like a wild thing. Despite his greater height, he
had difficulty in matching her pace. She led him down one
convoluted path and another, and the sound of his pursuing
companions fell away behind them.

Alasdair quickly lost his bearings and could
only cling to the harridan and dog her steps. She flew down a
shadowed corridor and darted up a course of unevenly cut stairs but
Alasdair galloped directly behind her

And caught his breath at the cold when he
stepped through the doorway at the summit.

Witch and warrior stopped as one, the puffs
of their breath mingling in the chill of the air. Innumerable stars
dotted the indigo sky, their twinkling light surely just beyond the
reach of Alasdair’s fingertips. The rise of Arthur’s Seat was a
still darker silhouette against the blackness of the night far to
his left.

Evidently, it was to the top of some high
tower they had climbed. Alasdair wondered at its age. The stone rim
of the parapet was broken here, and he had a dizzying view of the
drop, straight down the side of the mount to the market far
below.

He swallowed and looked skyward. A lump rose
in his throat as he recalled how brightly the stars had burned on
his last night at home. His heart had been heavy then with the
weight of what he had wrought and what he must do to make it come
right.

Could he ever have imagined ’twould take so
long?

Alasdair deliberately looked out toward the
hills, fighting against the unruly tide of emotion that set his
heart to pounding. He could not bear to think what had become of
those he had left behind – he did not dare to consider it.

He had never imagined that the good fight
would take so long to win. But soon Robert the Bruce would reign
victorious and Alasdair’s debt would be paid.

Soon he would be able to go home.

The stillness of the night was disturbed
when the first man stumbled onto the small landing behind Alasdair.
The remainder of his companions spilled out in quick succession,
their breathing heavy after their face.

“
A fair chill night it is,
indeed,” muttered one man.

“
Aye, enough to steal the
warmth of the drink away from a man’s bones.”

Surely the witch’s nonsense need not take
all the blessed night.”

Alasdair met the gaze of the woman who yet
held fast to his hand. A glimmer in her eye made Alasdair wonder
whether she read his thoughts, his doubts, his fears.

“
It is time,” she said
simply and released her grip. The men fell silent as she dug into a
concealed pocket in her dress. Alasdair frowned when she shoved a
plant cutting into his hand.

Heather.

“
From the bonny hills
around the Stone of Scone,” whispered the woman. “Where all grows
thicker, for the old forces are stronger there.”

Alasdair looked at the plant again and noted
that the flowers were white, not the usual plum shade. Uncommon
luck, his gran had foretold, whenever anyone found the rare white
heather.

Would he have uncommon fortune this
night?

The old woman pushed something cold into his
other hand. “And from the regalia itself is this,” she confided as
Alasdair touched the smooth edges of the gemstone.

“
The regalia?” Alasdair’s
frown deepened, and he felt his own displeasure echoed in the mood
of the men around him. “But what…?”