From the Ashes: Highland Time Travellers, #2

By Erin Grace

Rescued from the back alleys of modern day Glasgow, Callum Jamieson is thrust back in time to the 13th century and to a life beyond his imagination. His mission? He must save the woman he loves from being murdered – a woman he's never met. 
Desperate to escape the future she was born to, Katie Mackinnon longs for the chance to venture beyond the castle and keep of her Highland home, and discover if the world is really like the secret visions that have plagued since childhood – visions many would believe to be heresy. 
Instead, she must choose marriage and commitment by her next birthday – or the choice will be made for her. 
But when a mysterious stranger turns up unconscious after a lightning storm, Katie is forced to face her fears, her awakening intuition and her growing desire for the unusual man who has intrigued her like no other. 
 

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Erin Grace
• Release date: Jun 23, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393065685

Book preview

Chapter 1

Scotland, 1279

WITH a resounding thud, Katie Mackinnon closed the worn leather-bound book and pushed it across the small oak table.

I don’t know why I’m bothering with all this nonsense. Spelling. Numbers. Reading. The men who court me don’t care whether I can count past my fingers and toes, nor do they give a damn if I can read and write. In fact, some of them already believe it heresy for me to know as much as I do. All they care about is getting me into their beds and having my belly round with as many sons as I can manage before it kills me.

Katie, I know some men think like that…

They all think like that! No disrespect, mother, but I believe some of that English blood of yours has made you a wee bit daft.

A picture of deceptive serenity, Elspeth Mackinnon rested her arm on the table and gave her that stare which always preceded a lecture.

I’ll remind you, you carry the same blood.

Aye, but ’tis diluted by half. Hiding the hint of a smile tugging one corner of her mouth, she rose from the hard wooden bench and wandered over to the window.

She pushed the fine fur to one side to reveal her favourite view.

Endless hills in shifting hues of green, white, and purple rose majestically out of the early morning mist. She inhaled a deep breath, closed her eyes and pictured the deep valleys between the high peaks where fierce flowing rivers snaked their way through the Highlands.

Are you listening to me, young lady?

Hmm? She turned and blinked at her mother.

Just like your father. Well, I certainly know where you get your stubbornness from and your impatience.

Her shoulders sagged. Ma, it’s just that I’m nae ready to marry. I don’t love any of them. And, before you say anything, I know Da thinks I’m a fool to be thinking of such things as love. But in the very least I’d like to be attracted to my future husband. I don’t mean to be difficult, but I can’t hide the way I feel.

Lord, how could she explain to her mother the undefined urge she held inside to go out into the world and experience different ways of life to her own? The simple answer was, she couldn’t.

Frustrated and trapped, she returned to the table, sat down, and rested her elbow upon the dark polished surface. Her fingertips dipped down, idly traced over the fading inscription she and her older brother Grant had carved into the wood when they were young.

She’d been a devil child, often wishing she’d been born a boy.

Ever since she could remember, she had shadowed her big brother, emulating everything he did—much to her father’s chagrin. In fact, she’d once been so muddy and dishevelled playing with the boys in the dirt her own mother hadn’t even recognised her when she’d walked past.

She’d spend hours wandering through the hills, learning how to fish and trap. And, few could outshoot her with a bow and arrow—a skill surprisingly taught to her by her mother.

But when she turned twelve, everything changed.

No longer was she permitted to wear trews and tunics like the boys. Fighting with wooden swords wasn’t allowed, and she couldn’t sit idle on the shore while they all bathed in the icy loch.

Even Grant, her once staunch ally, would complain if she’d tried to hang around him and his friends. The ungrateful sod. How many times had she taken a lecture for his wrongdoings?

All of a sudden she’d become a young woman instead of just a girl who liked to throw sticks and collect stray animals. As she grew into her teens, neighbouring lairds would begin to visit and bring their eldest sons. For hours she’d be made to sit straight and be polite for their guests. And, everything would be going along smoothly until she opened her mouth and ended up saying something to aggravate the young men.

Seemed having an opinion was a less than desirable trait in a future bride.

She glanced back down at the table and bit her bottom lip. Despite everything she’d done to make her Da growl, she’d never seen him so angry as when he found out what they’d done to this poor table. It had survived in his family for three generations.

Yet, despite the fact he often shouted and raged he’d never raised a hand to her—ever. Grant, on the other hand, regularly had the wool stuffing knocked out him, but both men dismissed it all in the name of training.

Typical.

They were no different than any of the other men she knew. Fighting. Eating. Training. More fighting. Eating. Training. Though what baffled her most was just why she expected them to be anything else. What in the Holy Mother’s name was wrong with her? Their existence could often be violent and dangerous, she was no fool, but a restless part of her refused to be silenced and meekly accept marriage matters the way they were.

She didn’t want someone who would die for her, but someone who would share her life.

Once or twice she’d attempted some kind of meaningful conversation with her suitors, but unless she carried a claymore or was basted in ale and had a roasting apple stuck in her mouth, they seemed to look right through her.

Apart from Gordon Hewitt.

Aye, her skin crawled at the very thought of Laird Hewitt’s eldest son.

She’d known him since they were children. But, even from the start he’d been overbearing and cruel. Just for fun, he’d trap small animals and torture the poor creatures.

A cold shiver rippled along her spine.

Thankfully for the most part he’d ignored her, but when she’d reached sixteen he suddenly decided she existed.

Three times he’d offered for her hand so far, but she’d refused every one.

Problem was, each rejection only seemed to strengthen his resolve—and his impatience. Even cutting off her long hair had done little to dissuade his more recent attentions. Her father, however, had made promise if she ever did such a daft thing again, he would personally pack her off to a distant convent.

Yet, despite her appearance, Gordon had just sat there, drinking her father’s best ale and staring at her as though he were undressing her with his eyes. And, not in a soft or sensual way as she imagined a man could; no, he did a poor job of hiding his evident lust for her.

Come now, love. Your father does care for your feelings. We both do. Why, most of your friends were married by their sixteenth birthday. You can’t blame your father for his concern. After all, you’ll be turning twenty-one next month. And, we’d hoped by allowing you the extra time that at least one of the many fine men would have turned your eye.

Turned my stomach, more like. She groaned and placed her head in her hands.

Katherine Margot Mackinnon…

Lord. Her full name. Now her mother was serious.

…all I’m asking is for you to at least consider a few of the better suitors? Is that so difficult?

She glanced at her mother’s tender expression and wilted beneath it. What a brat she must sound like. Many times her father had pressed the issue of marriage and it had been her mother who’d proved her most staunch advocate to wait.

But, ma was right. Soon she would be twenty-one and it was past time to take her place within their clan…or someone else’s.

She reached out and gently clasped her mother’s slender fingers. I’m sorry, mother. I will try to choose a man before my birthday. I promise.

The sun shone with her mother’s radiant smile. It never failed to make her feel as if everything would be all right. But, as her stomach tightened at the thought of marrying someone she didn’t care about, she prayed her future would indeed be a happy one—just like her parents.

Oh, Katie, I just know the right man is waiting for you, you’ll see. As if sensing her frustration, her mother patted her hand in reassurance, then stood to leave. However, if you are so set against all of these fine Scotsmen, then I promise you won’t be forced to marry any of them.

Surprised by the unexpected statement, she raised her head and met her mother’s twinkling gaze. I won’t?

No, my love. I’ll send to England for a husband instead.

"You promised her what?"

Laird Ewan Mackinnon’s roar shook the dust from the rafters of the main hall.

Elspeth sat at the long banquet table and inspected the scratched surface, considering when it last had been properly scrubbed and polished. There’s is no need to bellow, Ewan. I’m right here.

She thought herself immune to her husband’s quick temper, but this time she knew she was in trouble.

There is every cause to bellow, wife. Our daughter is well past the marrying age and you know it. For too long she has been allowed to have her way. Aye, and I know that look of yours. Don’t think about arguing the point of your upbringing again.

Her upbringing…her past.

Near twenty-six years had gone by since she’d mistaken Ewan for a dying beast on the doorstep of her tiny cottage after a severe storm. Covered in muddy furs and dried blood, she’d no idea when she stitched his wounds just how much her life would change.

One minute she’d been a twenty-first century archaeologist digging up ruins, next, she was part of the very history she’d once studied.

Her idle gaze drifted along his muscular legs and trailed up to the roughly pleated kilt tucked into his belt.

A deep sigh escaped her and warmth filled her cheeks as she recalled the first time she’d removed his plaid to tend his wounds. And though he’d aged somewhat, he still exuded the same intoxicating masculinity she’d found as irresistible then as she did now.

Ellie? Are you listening to me, woman?

She blinked and gave him a sunny smile. Hmm? Sorry, dear.

I can see where Katie gets her imagination from. He shook his head and ran a hand through his thick mane of hair. Still the colour of old gold, it was now embellished with streaks of silvery-white at his temples.

Finding the effect curiously appealing, she stifled a smile and toyed with a goblet of water.

As he sat down in a chair by the hearth, his plaid draped lazily over his shoulder and bare chest glistened from the exertion of a mornings training with his men.

She cleared her throat and brushed away images of her husband’s naked body. Lord, what the man could still do to her senses. She just needs more time, to grow a little, find out who she is.

I’ll tell her right now who she is. She is Katie Mackinnon, my daughter. And she will do as she’s told.

Elbow on the table, she met his fervent gaze and rested her chin upon her fist. Good plan. And that tactic has worked on how many occasions?

He grunted at her comment.

Now, Ewan, I have spoken to her and asked her for my sake to please consider a few of the better suitors.

And?

"And, she has promised she will choose someone before her birthday next month." Somehow it didn’t seem the right moment to mention her threat of finding their daughter an English husband.

As simple as that, she agreed? Like that’s going to happen. For God’s sake, the daft lass cut off her hair just to spite young Hewitt. She’s too bloody stubborn to see reason.

Really? I have no idea where she gets it from, husband. And as for her hair, it will grow back in time. At the gentle cough from the shadows of hall, she turned toward the kitchen doorway and beckoned their cook to come forward. She smiled and let out the deep breath she’d been holding, thankful for the brief reprieve from topic of Katie’s marriage. Hello, Hannah. Do you need to speak to me?

An older woman with a weather-lined face and wiry grey hair stepped forward, her hands fidgeting with the stained apron tied around her middle. She carried a steely glint in her slate blue eyes, and her skin was dotted with numerous scars and burns. If the woman had been a man, anyone could have been forgiven for mistaking her for a hardened, battle-weary warrior.

And, for good reason.

The kitchen was often a war zone where Hannah’s skills required her to produce enormous feasts for hungry warriors—often at a moment’s notice. Despite the woman’s foul temper, nothing was ever too difficult for the feisty cook.

Laird. Hannah dropped a short curtsey to Ewan, then faced her. It’s about the rabbits, my lady.

Curious, she smiled. Rabbits?

Aye, my lady. You see, my son Robbie went out early this morning with a few of the other lads to catch some rabbits for supper. But when they arrived at the Northern border, they discovered traps had already been laid.

Ewan stood, his expression stone-like, amber eyes glinting. Macintyre’s.

Oh dear.

The Macintyres were a small clan, their strip of land wedged between theirs and Hewitts’. Once a respected family, poor management and a weak laird had seen them become wasteful.

Sensing Ewan’s building anger, she offered him a reassuring smile. It may not have been them, husband. Perhaps the young men simply forgot about previous traps they themselves had set.

There. Easily explained…

Ewan’s hand reached around the hilt of his claymore, fingers flexed.

…or not.

Oh aye, my lady. It surely was Macintyres.

Oh, how she wished Hannah would be quiet. The last thing she wanted was a war so close to winter. Robbie says they saw a few of the Macintyre men cleaning out their traps, fat with Mackinnon rabbits. It was definitely their plaid. It’s well known the Macintyre’s weaver favours the green and blue tartan above all others.

Hell. If wishes had wings, they just flew out the window.

Ewan glanced toward the doorway. I’ve warned the Macintyres about hunting on my lands. Hannah, go fetch Angus and tell him to meet me in the bailey. Seems a lesson might be in order.

As Ewan adjusted his belt, then sheathed his sword, she wanted to speak out, tell him it didn’t matter, but her life with the Mackinnons had taught her better. She wasn’t in her homeland anymore, and things were very different here. Winter was fast approaching, which meant a long and treacherous time for any clan ill-prepared.

Life and death was never more absolute than in the Highlands.

For the past month, the clan’s warriors had been hunting large game and catching fish, the meat of which was then smoked or cured and stored away. Salt was a huge extravagance and very expensive, but Ewan had made it a priority for the clan’s survival. She and the ladies had also preserved bushels of kale, made jams, and brewed casks of beer and cider, all ready for the cold months ahead. Oats, barley, and peas were dried and used to make porridge or ground into flour for bread.

Simple fare, perhaps, but it would sustain the clan until warmer weather arrived.

Selected animals would also be brought in soon and kept within stables at the keep. During the heavy snows, fresh meat was a luxury and not one part of the beast would be spared. Once, not so long ago, her stomach would have churned at the thought of eating tongue, liver, and intestines. Now she ate the tasty dishes with same grateful enthusiasm as the rest of their clan.

Ewan was a good laird and mindful of his lands. He always made certain enough healthy, strong animals were left to breed and repopulate the following spring. Poaching was a crime he wouldn’t tolerate. He’d grown up facing constant hunger thanks to the evil doings of a deranged priest who poisoned their lakes and cattle. He once swore to her he would never see his clan go hungry again.

Desperate perhaps, the Macintyres took without asking.

Chapter 2

AN ear-splitting crack of thunder shook the ground beneath Katie’s feet as she made her way along the ridge far behind the keep.

Holy hell. The curse stole from her lips before she could think better of it. She rarely swore, at least when her parents were around, but she’d never heard anything so loud before.

Storm clouds appeared to be rolling in from the east, but she continued along her determined path. The bad weather merely reflected her foul mood. Frustrated and upset, she wanted nothing more than a long walk to clear her mind. After the talk with her mother, she’d intended to confront both her parents and finally explain how she felt, not just about marriage but about a lot of things that had plagued her since childhood. But her father’s shouting had echoed through the keep like the thunder above, and she’d felt the sideways glances of clan folk upon her at every turn.

She didn’t want their sympathetic stares, no matter how well-meaning they might be.

To them, her future had already been decided.

A shiver danced along her spine as a chill wind picked up and sliced through her brown woollen dress. Where had that come from? Lord, she hated the cold, despite the fact she’d been born into it. Wrapping her thick plaid around her shoulders, she glanced up at the darkening sky, then began to climb the boulders at the base of a small hill.

Often, she would scale this mound as a child when she needed a bit of solitude. Whilst other children played carefree in the fields, her