Wild about the Witch (15 page)

She reached over and placed her hand on his arm, and he covered it with his own, looking apologetic. “It sounds like we need to take Catie back, and bring Miss Burnet home,” she said.

Catie huffed. “I dinna want to go back,” she said. “It’s wonderful here, and ye canna say otherwise, or ye’d have gone back yourself.”

Lachlan pressed his lips together and raked his fingers through his hair several times in quick succession, clearly trying not to yell. “Catie, once again I must ask ye to be reasonable. Ye know ye must go back.”

“Why must I?” she asked.

“For one thing, ye’re a verra rich young lady. What will happen to your inheritance if ye’ve disappeared without a trace?”

“I hate being an heiress,” Catie said, pacing to the bar and back. “It- it sucks.”

Piper jumped in before Lachlan could berate her for speaking in such a manner. “She’s right. It does suck. It’s a load of pressure for one thing,” she said at his look of disbelief.

“Ye’re complaining about all that ye own?” he asked, waving his hand to encompass the castle. “The weeks we spent on the island, and the decadent ship that brought us home? Not to mention all the daft things ye buy without a thought?”

“What daft things?” she asked, deeply affronted.

“The white leather harnesses with the wee bells for the horses, to name only one.”

“Those are for Christmas,” Piper said, noticing Catie easing her way from the room. “Oh no, you don’t. Lachlan, she’s pitting us against each other so she can escape.”

Lachlan laughed. “Clever lass. But whatever ye think of being an heiress, ye are one and ye must face it.” Catie stuck out her lip and looked like she might cry, but Lachlan held up his hand. “Save it,” he said. “That only works on soft-hearted idiots like Quinn. Ye’re going back, and getting married, and living the good life in your own time. Ye can take notes from Miss Moneybags over here on how to spend your fortune.”

“I don’t see you complaining much,” Piper said, stunned at how she was getting thrown under the bus. “In fact, you seem to like it just fine.”

Lachlan leaned down and kissed her, which only eased her hurt feelings a little. “I like it verra much,” he said. “But I would like living on my own farm with much less just the same, as long as ye were with me.”

He took her hand and squeezed it, and she forgave him. But she wasn’t returning the harnesses. He’d see how amazing her holiday decorations were going to be. She saw Catie looking at them with real tears in her eyes now and pulled her hand away from Lachlan, not wanting to flaunt their love.

“Do ye know the only man who wanted to marry me just wanted to because I was rich? He had gambling debts and didna love me at all. I’m not rich in this time, and Shane still wants to take me to the cinema.”

Piper realized how lucky she was to have Lachlan. If he hadn’t landed in the tower room, she might be fighting off fortune hunters, never sure who really liked her for herself and not her billions. Before she could open her mouth to empathize and try to make Lachlan understand, Catie was already gone, the slam of the kitchen door reverberating in the air between them.

“Should I go after her?” Lachlan asked, out of his depth again.

“No. Let her have her date with Shane. Poor thing. What can another day or two hurt?”

Lachlan pulled her close and wrapped his arms around her and she completely forgot being angry with him, and the terrible morning seemed a year ago, and barely worth thinking about. Nothing was wrong. She repeated it to herself so that she almost believed it.

“She’s spoiled,” Lachlan said.

“Maybe just a bit,” Piper agreed. “But make fun of me all you want, it was hard at first, being suddenly rich. You met me when I’d had a chance to settle into it some, but in the beginning I didn’t know who to trust. I thought Sam, of all people, had nefarious intentions when I first met him, because the money made me so paranoid.”

“Ah, Sam isna nefarious at all,” Lachlan said.

“Yes, well, that’s how stressful it was, and I’m nearly ten years older than Catie. Ugh, that makes me sound so old.”

“I love ye,” he said, kissing the side of her neck. “Especially the wisdom your advanced age brings.”

“Hmmph,” she said, tilting her head back so he could better reach the tender spot behind her ear. “I’m glad you’re finally agreeing with me.”

He straightened. “I am partially agreeing. I hope ye are prepared to see whatever film is playing tonight, because ye know I canna let her go with that wee scoundrel and not keep an eye on them both, aye?”

“Fine,” she sighed. “And he’s not a wee scoundrel. He’s a good kid. He’s just a bit of a flirt, like your brother.”

Lachlan groaned. “Dinna say that. That doesna put my mind at ease at all.”

Lizzie opened her eyes to trees swaying in the wind and quickly rolled over, the fluid motion making her feel sick. She closed her eyes until the nausea passed, hearing Oliver retching several feet away. Time travel did not agree with him at all. When she opened her eyes again, she saw Quinn standing over her, holding his arm but otherwise looking more hale and hearty than she’d seen in days.

“Did we make it?” She ignored his outstretched hand and scrambled to her feet. “Are you all right, Oliver?” she called, getting him a drink of water from their bag of essentials.

Oliver groaned, but made it to his feet, accepting the drink and looking around.

“Well, we made it to the woods,” he said and laughed at his joke. He was the only one.

“The only way of knowing is to go to the castle, I suppose,” Quinn said.

Lizzie looked at her clothes. “If we made it, we’re going to look pretty out of place. But you’re right. I don’t see any other way.”

She inspected his bandage, and helped him wrap his kilt as firmly around his arm as she could to keep it still. He seemed to be in a lot less pain than when they left, and any bit of tipsiness he’d displayed earlier was gone.

Lizzie prayed they’d see a car or other dead giveaway when they got within sight distance of the castle, and she spent the time walking trying to think of a cover story for their odd clothing and Quinn’s gunshot wound. She went back and forth between praying they’d made it to the right time, and praying to stay out of jail.

Quinn stopped abruptly and she ran into his back, nearly causing Oliver to run into her. Quinn turned around and gave them both a fierce glare and nodded ahead of them and to the left.

Her heart sank at what she saw. A man with dark, curly hair and wearing a kilt with a sword strapped at his side, led a horse along a narrow path.

“We didn’t go far enough,” she said.

Everything about the man said eighteenth century, from his boots to the saddle. She could have cried.

Oliver took her arm to pull her behind a tree. “We’ll just try again,” he whispered, tossing a twig at Quinn’s back to get him to move out of sight.

Too late. The man turned in their direction and saw them, a welcoming smile lighting up his face. Lizzie was shocked, sure that he would charge at them with his sword raised. Instead, he led the horse toward them, calling out, “You lot are well lost, aren’t you?”

He was English. She turned to Oliver, wondering if she had heard wrong, but Oliver’s mouth hung open in surprise at the man’s accent. Quinn turned around with raised brows and all she could do was shrug. She didn’t know enough about history to know if this land had ever been occupied, but even so, why would an Englishman be wearing a kilt and acting so friendly to strangers? The man stopped in front of them and held out his hand, which Quinn took after only a second’s hesitation.

“Archebald Bancroft,” he said, pumping Quinn’s hand before offering it to her and Oliver. He furrowed his brow. “Say, you didn’t park in the scenic overlook did you? We’ve been getting complaints.”

Lizzie opened her mouth, then shut it, her mind further boggled by another man appearing from the path wearing jeans and a flannel shirt, hiking boots and a battered jacket.

“Oi, Archie, I found a trap. You were right about the poachers—”

“I found some new campers,” Archebald called to the man in modern clothes. “Quite a bit lost, I’d say.” He turned back to them. “That’s Sam. He’s not one of us, as you can tell, but he’s a good chap.”

Sam made his way around the trees and stopped dead about six feet from them, his eyes narrowing at the sight of Quinn.

“No bloody way,” he said in a low voice. His eyes flew over Lizzie and Oliver before settling on Quinn again. “You’re the brother,” he said in an accusatory tone, then clapped his hands and grinned. “Jesus, you have to be. Quinn? Right?” His seeming delight instantly faded and he gave them hard looks, before nervously turning to Archebald. “Can you see the resemblance?”

Archebald tilted his head from one side to the next, all while Lizzie had a silent panic attack. Had they done something so terrible to the fabric of time that English and Scottish, eighteenth century and twenty-first, were now a bizarre and unholy amalgamation of one another? And how did that man know Quinn?

“Why, you’re right,” Archebald agreed. “Delighted to meet you. Your brother is a wealth of historical knowledge. We’ve learned so much from him.”

“Ye know my brother?” Quinn asked.

“Yes, of course,” Sam said. “Everyone knows Lachlan. He didn’t say you were visiting, though.” He spoke in a loud, unnatural voice. “I’m sure you meant to go up to the castle before you checked out the re-enactor’s camp, isn’t that right?”

Quinn stared at him stonily so Lizzie jumped in, knowing an improv when she saw it. “Yes, that’s right. We’re so lost. You couldn’t show us the way, could you?” She turned to Archebald, who continued to smile at them. “We can’t wait to visit the camp, but Quinn hasn’t seen his brother in months.”

“Of course, of course,” he said. “I’ll just continue looking for traps, and see you later. Marvelous costumes, by the way. The best I’ve seen in a while.” He patted the horse and led it away, scanning the ground as he went.

“I can’t believe this,” Sam said as soon as Archebald was out of hearing range. “When did you get here? And how?” He took a phone out of his pocket and Lizzie’s breath caught at the sight of the modern gadget. She was home. Well and truly home. “I can’t believe it,” he repeated, tapping out a message. “You came for Catie, I’m assuming?”

Quinn slumped with relief at hearing her name. “Ye know my sister as well?”

“Aye, she’s staying with me and my fiancee. She, er, got angry at Lachlan and didn’t want to stay at the castle.”

Quinn laughed and leaned against the nearest tree, wiping his eyes. “Ah, that sounds about right. She is well?”

Sam made to clap him on the shoulder, stopping when he noticed the bandage. “She’s fine, mate. But what’s this?” He turned to Lizzie and Oliver knowingly. Oliver had sat down as soon as Archebald left, overwhelmed by everything. “Stabbing?” Sam guessed.

“Gunshot,” Lizzie answered. “Can you get him help?”

“Gunshot, that’s different,” he said. “We can certainly get some help.” Sam grinned some more and took out his phone again, tapping out a new message. “Their minds are going to be so blown. Let’s go.”

Piper spread out her wedding notes, fabric samples, and pictures of flower arrangements on the table and went to slice some pound cake for when Evie arrived for their serious planning session. She frowned at the cake and hid it away, deciding to slice up some apples instead. Baby number two was going to show any minute now, and even with a Regency style wedding dress, the belly was only part of the problem.  

While Piper had sadly missed almost all of Evie’s pregnancy with Mags, due to being trapped in time travel limbo, she’d heard stories from Sam and Mellie about how Evie’s level of craziness amped up considerably the further along she got.

Weddings weren’t exactly stress-free things to plan and execute, and she didn’t want any hormones making things more difficult than they were sure to already be. All she wanted was for her two best friends to finally be married. They were the most in love people she’d ever known, besides herself and Lachlan, of course.

She looked with distaste at the makeshift wedding central she’d set up. When this one was over, was she really going to want to plan another? She made a mental note to ask Lachlan if he wouldn’t mind eloping. He’d probably be delighted. Every time she showed him a cute chandelier or ring-bearer pillow, he seemed appalled at the extravagant lengths people now went to in order to get married.

“Why dinna they just do it in the village church some Sunday?” he asked when she wanted his opinion on some tiny birdcage garlands.

He’d then said the birdcage garlands were daft, and she’d told him to shut up, and hadn’t asked him his opinion since. She shook her head, hoping the wedding wasn’t going to tear them apart.

She had bigger things to worry about tearing them apart if Daria had actually resurfaced. She sat down and closed her eyes, digging deep into her mind for any whispered voices or out of place thoughts. Nothing.

Evie swung into the kitchen and unloaded her laptop onto the table, shaking Piper out of her useless revery.

“What’s up?” Evie asked, looking concerned. She always seemed to know when something was wrong, and continued to worry about Daria.