The Highlander's Vow (Loch Moigh #4) (12 page)

Finally, Connor ended the match. Circling Struan, he clucked his tongue and shook his head. The guy hardly seemed winded. Embarrassed, Struan struggled to bring air into his lungs. “This
wasn’t
my idea,” he rasped out. “I’m rusty is all. I haven’t really needed to—”

“You said you wanted to help Sky.”

“From here, not . . . not . . .” He swallowed convulsively. “I’ve . . . the Gordons have given her shelter, fed her. I bought her clothes.” He’d also been rude to her, blaming her for things that had nothing to do with her. Besides, she’d repaid him for the clothing, giving up one of her precious gold coins. She had no idea the thing was worth a fortune today. Plus, he’d sworn he’d keep her safe. Lord, he was tired of the load of guilt piling up on his shoulders. “I’ll help her get to Scotland, but—”

“Come. Your family is expecting us. We’ll discuss how you can help
from here
once Sky is present for the discussion. My wife is at the Gordons’ already. I imagine we’ve had an audience.”

Struan’s gaze shot to the glass patio doors facing their training area. Heat crept up his neck to scorch his face, and it had nothing to do with physical exertion. Very likely Sky had witnessed his ignominious defeat. Connor put his hand on Struan’s shoulder, turned him toward the house and forcefully started him moving toward the back door. He was really beginning to dislike the guy.

They entered the kitchen through the patio, and Struan stifled the groan rising in his throat. Sky, his ma and da, Katherine and Michael were sitting at the table, and judging by the way Sky avoided eye contact, she had indeed witnessed his utter humiliation at Connor’s hand.

Struan busied himself with unlacing his brigandine and drawing it off. His T-shirt, soaked with sweat, clung to him. “Can I borrow a towel and a dry shirt, Gene?” he asked. He strode over to the kitchen sink and splashed cold water over his face and neck. A towel hit him in the chest when he turned back.

Michael smirked. “Dad went to get a shirt.”

Struan nodded before drying himself, still avoiding looking Sky’s way.

“Coffee?” Marjorie asked, her voice cheery.

“Sure,” Struan said, pulling off his soaked T-shirt.

“Connor?” she offered.

“No. Never learned to like the stuff. I’ve had my morning tea, thank you.”

Gene returned with a clean shirt. Struan slipped it on and took a seat at the table where his ma had set his coffee. Katherine had a folder in front of her, piquing his curiosity. “What do you have there?”

“We brought a few things for Sky just in case.” She pushed the folder across the table toward Sky. “Connor and I believe it’s best if we keep things as simple and above suspicion as possible, so Sky can travel with us to Scotland without difficulty. Inside, you’ll find our daughter’s official birth certificate, her social security card and a passport application,” she said, her voice hitching. “We suggest you use Meghan’s identity to get an ID card here in Virginia.”

“Oh.” Sky studied the folder. “I am most grateful to you both. I know this must be difficult for you.”

“Since Connor and our sons witnessed what happened the day Meghan disappeared, we never reported Meghan missing. You shouldn’t encounter any difficulty assuming her identity.” Katherine’s voice broke again. “I’ve also taken the liberty of filling out the passport application for you, since you wouldn’t know our personal information—or Meghan’s, for that matter. All you have to do is sign the document. Once you have the picture ID and a passport photo, you can send it in to be processed.”

Connor covered his wife’s hand with his. “We thought about having you come home with us, Sky, and getting an ID in Minnesota. But we fear if we did so, Meghan’s driver’s license would pop up in the system, and someone might suspect your request was fraudulent. We didn’t want to take the risk. It’s best you stay here. That’s where you come in, Struan.”

Connor leaned forward. “She’ll need a local address to get the state ID, and you’ll have to take her in and vouch for her. We’re heading home later this morning. We’ll be back in a week or so.”

The McGladreys rose from the table, and once again Connor’s intimidating gaze fixed upon Struan. “I suggest you start training a bit more seriously, because I’ll expect a better showing when I return. We figure two weeks for the ID and another six for the passport. During the wait, I’m counting on you to train with me.”

“Why?” Struan frowned. “Surely there’s someone you can work with in Minnesota. Why not just stay at home until her passport arrives?”

Michael sat up straighter. “I’d like to train with you, Mr. McGladrey.”

“You are welcome to join us, Michael. As to why here and not at home, it’s because none of my present-day sparring partners understand the mentality of a medieval warrior. Though you’ve let yourself go soft, you lived with the mindset. You know what it means to face peril on a daily basis. I prefer to hone my skills with someone who understands the ‘kill or be killed’ environment in which we both managed to survive. And quite frankly, you need to get in shape, boyo.” He arched an eyebrow, his expression mocking. “It’s a sad day indeed when a young man in his prime is so easily driven into the dirt by an
old man
like myself.” He huffed out a laugh. “Did I mention I’m a grandfather?”

Ire rose like bile up his throat, and his jaw clenched down on the hot retort he wanted to make.

“Thank you so much for your kind hospitality, Marjorie, Gene.” Katherine smiled warmly. “It was lovely meeting all of you, and Gordon Hollow is absolutely idyllic.”

“You’re very welcome.” Marjorie returned her smile.

“Plan to stay with us when you return,” Gene said, shaking Connor’s hand. “We have the room, and I’d very much like to hear more about the fourteenth century.”

“We’ll gladly take you up on your offer,” Connor replied. “Walk with us to the car, Struan. I’ve a few more things to say to you before we leave.”

“Great.” Struan slid his chair back, so that it made an unpleasant scraping sound against the floor. He followed the McGladreys to their rental, widened his stance and crossed his arms in front of his chest, bracing himself to be ground into the dirt yet again, even if it was only metaphorically this time around.

Connor helped his wife into the car, circled around the hood and came to face him toe-to-toe. “Despite what you might think, laddie, heroes are
not
born; they’re forged through trial and tempered by adversity in much the same way as your steel blades. When called upon, a hero rises above his fellows, while a common man chooses to remain . . . common. At some point in our lives, each of us is given the choice to either rise above or remain rooted to the ground.”

“OK.” Struan squirmed beneath the man’s unwavering scrutiny. “Got it. To rise, or not to rise.
That
is the question.”

Connor huffed out a laugh. “Think about it, and we’ll talk more when I return.”

He saluted him. “Will do.” Then he crossed his arms in front of him again and tried really, really hard
not
to throw curses at the retreating rental car. Life was closing in around him, herding him closer and closer toward a ledge, and he couldn’t help feeling like he was about to be shoved into the waiting abyss.

He surveyed the land, taking in the mountains sheltering their valley. The deep green of the pines and spruce covering the hills, and the pastures where Ethan’s cattle grazed were as familiar to him as his own face. He caught sight of Andrew’s truck near the forge.

Needing time to regroup, finish his coffee and spend a little time with his family, he turned to go back inside. His heart thumped against his sternum. Sky stood by the front door, watching him in that intense way she had about her. Had she heard Connor’s cryptic speech? “So, what are your plans for today?”

“Lindsay is taking me shopping for a suit for swimming.”

“A swimsuit.”

Her chin lifted a notch. “That’s what I said.”

Every time she lifted her chin like that, the urge to drag her into his arms and ravish her sweet mouth slammed into him. The image that sprang to mind—Sky wearing nothing but a hot barely-there-bikini—really didn’t help matters. “When do you want to apply for that state ID?”

“Mayhap ’twould be best to put off shopping and take care of the ID as soon as can be arranged.”

“Mayhap.” One side of his mouth quirked up. “While we’re at the DMV, do you think you could speak with an American accent using more contemporary speech?”

“For certes . . . er . . . of course I can. I’ve been listening carefully and practicing in the privacy of my bedroom.”

Her words came out so artificial and stilted he had to bite down on the urge to laugh. “Say as little as possible, and we’ll be fine.” He abandoned the idea of going back inside. He had coffee at his house, and Andrew would be waiting for him. “I have to take care of a few things at the forge. I’ll come for you after lunch.”

He started for the lane, considering whether or not he should take Connor’s advice to get in shape and jog home. His sore muscles heartily objected to the notion. He’d get up early tomorrow morning and begin his jogging regimen, and he’d ask Andrew to train with him on a daily basis. If Connor wanted a worthy opponent, Struan intended to give him one.

“Struan.”

“Hmm?” He turned back.

“I don’t expect you to rise above your fellows.” Her gorgeous eyes were filled with concern. “If you please, I’d much prefer it if you’d stay rooted here in Gordon Hollow.”

With that, she marched back into the house, and Struan was left staring at air. And scowling. “Hmm. So she doesn’t see me as the stuff of legends,” he muttered under his breath. Damn if that didn’t take more than just the wind out of his sails. It also took his pride. He growled low in his throat and strode down the street in his medieval boots.

He was still in stomp mode when he walked into his forge. “Andrew, we need to start knocking off a little early every afternoon, so we can practice our combat skills.”

“Oh? Why is that?” Andrew spared him a glance. “No. Wait. Let me guess. The folks at the Society for Creative Anachronism have finally begun their global takeover. Am I right?”

“No.” Struan scowled.

“For the sake of argument, if the SCA did start a coup, whose side would you be on?”

“Can we leave the SCA out of this?” he huffed. “I need to train harder because I just got my ass handed to me in the lists by a man in his fifties. He’s a grandfather, for crying out loud!” Still scowling, he scanned the interior of his forge. “Where’s Brian?”

“He had horses to shoe this morning. He’ll be in as soon as he can.” Andrew finished cutting the leather strips for wrapping the grips of their swords, and then he straightened. “You want to tell me what’s going on besides the ass kicking?”

“It’s complicated.”

“I’m intelligent.”

“Seems I’ve fallen in lust with the earl of Fife’s eldest daughter.”

“Ah, I see.” Andrew nodded. “So we’re done with the brotherly proprietary looking out for her thing?”

“I never said it was brotherly. That was you.”

“Granted. What else?”

“Connor McGladrey is trying to coerce me into becoming a hero.”

“Hmm?” Andrew cocked an eyebrow.

“I’m a bastard.”

“Well, you’ve always been a moody sort, but we all have our moments. Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

Struan slanted a narrow-eyed look at him. “Not
that
kind of bastard.” He launched into an explanation of everything that had happened since the McGladreys’ arrival. “He hasn’t said it outright, but Connor wants me to go back with them to protect Sky. I know he does. But, see, if I do go back, I’ll have no chance with Sky. None.” Not to mention his fears that the timer on his extended life was about to go
ding
.

“If you convinced her to stay, do you believe you’d have a chance with her?” Andrew asked. “Oh, wait. You said you’re in lust. Just what kind of
chance
are we talking here?”

The kind of chance that had the eldest daughter of the earl of Fife falling willingly into his bed. “I had this stupid notion that once she got to know me, my origins wouldn’t matter.” He shrugged. “Where things between us were supposed to go from there is still a little hazy. I figured she’d settle into this century, and I’d have time to sort it all out.”

He shook his head and heaved a frustration-laced breath. “But in her time? Sky’s father, the
earl
, would never allow me anywhere near her. I’m not even a knight. I’m just a common blacksmith. Besides, I don’t have the slightest desire to be in any time or place other than this one.”

“I’d say you were an uncommonly excellent blacksmith, Struan. And wasn’t your dad also an earl? Doesn’t that count?”

“No. I’m illegitimate, and with the nobility that makes me persona non grata. Bastards are to be avoided like the black plague. Especially by eligible bachelorettes possessing large dowries, and I’m certain Sky Elizabeth falls into
that
lofty category.” He didn’t mention the fear, the panic and the overwhelming sense of foreboding the thought of stepping through time’s portal caused him. “So you see, I’m a shit if I don’t and screwed if I do.”

“Have you considered talking her into staying here with you?”

“I’ve toyed with the notion, and I’m not above attempting to do just that.” He sent Andrew a pointed look. “But what kind of an ass does that make me? Her family is going to suffer the fallout for her disappearance, and if she doesn’t at least try to rectify the situation, she’s going to suffer the guilt for the rest of her life. If I’m the one who talks her out of returning, eventually she’s going to resent me.”

“Hmm. Quite a dilemma you’ve found yourself in, my friend. I don’t envy you.”

“Heroes aren’t born; they’re forged through trial and tempered by adversity,” Struan bit out.

“Sounds like something you’d see written on the front of a T-shirt.” Andrew began wrapping a sword grip with leather.

“Sounds like coercion.” Struan grabbed the bearing sword he was working on for the pretend SCA king and dropped it on the workbench. He had a few spots to finish cleaning up, and then he’d put it in the acid bath. “I never signed up to be anyone’s hero. I don’t
want
to be a hero. All the men I’ve thought of as legendary died violent deaths much too young.” A chill traipsed down his spine.