Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
T he rain began as they were returning from the eastern edge of MacLeod lands, a gentle patter that quickly transformed into an angry torrent. The wind howled across the land, and Kate clutched her cloak tighter as the first drops found their way beneath her collar.
“We need to find shelter,” Connor shouted over the gale. “The path ahead floods in storms like this.”
Kate nodded, her teeth already chattering. They’d spent the afternoon gathering herbs for Elspeth, who was still bedridden after losing her baby. Moira had sent them specifically for lady’s mantle, which only bloomed for a brief time each year. The plant was said to help women recover from childbirth and miscarriage. While she might not know much about medicine, at least during the month she’d been here, Kate had learned to identify several herbs and could recite their uses.
“This way,” Connor called, turning his horse off the main path. “There’s a place not far from here.”
The rain lashed at her face as they rode, making it nearly impossible to see more than a few feet ahead. She trusted his knowledge of his own land, but as the minutes stretched on and the storm intensified, fear began to creep in. Her clothes were soaked through, and she couldn’t feel her face.
Finally, Connor pulled his horse to a stop near what looked like a solid rock face. He dismounted quickly and came to help her down, his strong hands steadying her as her feet touched the ground, not letting go until she was steady.
“This way,” he said, leading both horses toward what appeared to be nothing but more stone.
Only when they were almost upon it did she notice the narrow opening, barely visible unless you knew exactly where to look. Connor ducked inside, pulling the horses after him, and Kate followed, relief washing over her as the howling wind was suddenly muffled.
The cave was larger than it appeared from the outside, extending back into the hillside. It was dark and damp, but blessedly dry compared to the deluge they’d escaped.
“The shepherds have used this place for generations,” Connor explained, his voice echoing slightly. “And sometimes those who need to disappear for a while.”
“Outlaws?” Kate asked, wringing water from her hair.
He smiled, the dim light from the cave entrance catching the curve of his lips. “Among others. My brothers and I found it as lads. We’d hide here when we wanted to escape our father’s wrath.”
He moved deeper into the cave, and Kate heard the sound of rummaging. A moment later, a spark flared, and Connor had a small fire going, illuminating their shelter with a warm, flickering light.
“There’s always dry wood here,” he explained. “An unspoken agreement among those who know of this place.”
She moved closer to the fire, spreading her skirts to dry. The herbs they’d collected were safely tucked in her satchel, protected from the sudden summer shower, but the rest of her clothing had caught the brunt of the downpour. The cave smelled of earth and smoke, with hints of heather and rain wafting in from the entrance where water dripped steadily, forming small puddles on the stone floor.
“You’re chilled,” Connor observed, his voice low and resonant in the quiet space.
The flickering firelight cast shadows across his chiseled features, highlighting the scar above his right eyebrow and the determined set of his jaw. His sun-kissed brown hair hung in wet strands around his face, droplets of water trailing down his neck.
“I’ll be fine once my clothes dry,” she replied, though she couldn’t suppress a small shiver as a gust of wind swept into the cave.
He settled beside her, close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating from his body. His linen shirt clung to his muscled chest, and Kate found herself struggling not to stare.
“The fire will help,” he said, reaching forward to add another piece of wood to the flames. The movement brought him closer, and Kate caught the earthy scent of him, heather and smoke and something she couldn’t place, that she found oddly comforting.
He tended to the horses, removing their saddles and rubbing them down with handfuls of dry grass he found deeper in the cave. When he returned to the fire, he sat down next to Kate, the flames casting his face in alternating light and shadow.
“This storm will last all night,” he said, glancing past the horses, toward the cave entrance where rain still fell in sheets. “We’ll need to wait until morning.”
They sat in silence for a while, listening to the rain and the occasional crack of thunder. The fire popped and hissed, sending sparks dancing upward. Kate found herself growing drowsy with the warmth, her head gradually coming to rest against Connor’s shoulder.
“I should have read the signs more carefully,” he said suddenly, breaking the silence. “The clouds were gathering in the west, but I thought we’d make it back before the worst hit.”
“You can’t control the weather,” Kate felt a smile ghost across her face.
He sighed, his breath stirring her hair. “I seem to be making too many mistakes lately.”
There was something in his voice that she’d never heard before. She lifted her head to look at him, finding his blue eyes troubled in the firelight.
“What do you mean?”
He was quiet for so long she thought he might not answer. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and rough with emotion.
“I should have saved Cameron. I should have known the MacDonald offer was a trap. I should have...”
“Connor,” Kate interrupted gently, “you can’t blame yourself for Cameron’s death. You did everything you could.”
“Did I?” His jaw tightened. “I’m laird. The clan looks to me for protection, for guidance. And I feel like I’m failing them at every turn.”
Her heart ached at the raw pain in his voice. This was a side of him she’d never seen. The doubt beneath the confident exterior, the fear behind the strength.
“You’re not failing,” she said firmly. “You’re carrying an impossible burden, and you’re doing it with more courage than anyone I’ve ever known.”
He looked at her then, really looked at her, as if seeing something new in her face. “How is it you always seem to know exactly what to say?”
She smiled sadly. “I’m good at reading people. It’s what I did... before.” She stopped abruptly, realizing she’d nearly slipped.
“Before?” Connor prompted, his eyes curious.
“Before I came here,” she amended quickly. “It was important in my... village... to understand what people needed.”
It wasn’t exactly a lie, but it wasn’t the whole truth, either. In her job at Love Lasting, reading people’s relationships had been her specialty. Understanding what made couples work, or more often, what made them fail, had been her bread and butter.
He seemed to accept her explanation, but something in his expression told her he sensed there was more she wasn’t saying. He didn’t press, though, and relief spread through her, followed by guilt. But people here in this time were superstitious. She didn’t want to be branded a witch. Things were hard enough.
The fire crackled between them, casting dancing shadows on the cave walls.
“When I was a lad,” Connor said after a while, “my father told me that a chieftain must be like stone. Unyielding, unmovable. I’ve tried to be that. But sometimes...”
“Sometimes stone cracks,” Kate finished for him. “Being strong doesn’t mean never feeling doubt or pain. It means continuing on despite them.”
His eyes met hers, and something passed between them, an understanding, a connection that went beyond words. Her breath caught in her throat.
Without thinking, she reached out and touched his face, her fingers tracing the scar above his right eyebrow. It was the first time she had initiated contact between them, and she felt him go still beneath her touch.
“What happened here?” she asked softly.
“Training accident when I was fourteen,” he replied, his voice equally quiet. “Brodie’s blade caught me when I wasn’t paying attention.”
Kate’s fingers lingered on the scar, then slowly traced down the side of his face to his jaw. His skin was warm beneath her touch, rough with stubble.
He caught her hand in his, eyes never leaving her face. “Kate,” he said, her name sounding like a prayer on his lips, a gentle caress that made her heart flutter in her chest.
The moment stretched between them, taut with possibility. Kate knew she should pull away, should maintain the distance that had kept her safe all these weeks. But something in his eyes, a vulnerability, a need that mirrored her own, made her lean forward instead. The warmth of his calloused palm against hers sent tingles up her arm, and she found herself moving closer, drawn by an invisible thread that had been weaving between them since the day they met.
Their lips met softly at first, a gentle question that hung in the air between them. His mouth was warm, tender, hesitant, as if he feared she might vanish if he pressed too hard. Then his hand came up to cradle the back of her head, his fingers tangling in her hair, and the kiss deepened, becoming an answer neither of them had known they were seeking.
Kate melted into him, all thoughts of time, distance, and secrets momentarily forgotten. His arms encircled her, strong and sure, pulling her closer until she could feel the steady beating of his heart against her own. The scent of him, pine and leather and something uniquely him, enveloped her, and for the first time since arriving in this century, she felt truly safe, truly home. Cherished.
The world around them faded away, the damp walls of the cave, the distant rumble of thunder, the cold stone beneath them, until there was only him, only this moment, only the sweet, intoxicating sensation of his lips moving against hers. A soft sigh escaped her, and she felt him smile against her mouth, a smile she returned without hesitation.
When they finally broke apart, both breathless, Kate found herself trembling, not from the rain, but from the intensity of what had just happened. His forehead rested against hers, breath warm on her face, his eyes searching hers with wonder and a tenderness that made her heart ache.
“I’ve wanted to do that since I found you in the heather among the stones,” he whispered, his brogue thicker with emotion.
Kate reached up to touch his face again, tracing the scar above his eyebrow with gentle fingers. “I think I’ve been waiting for you my whole life,” she admitted softly, the truth of it surprising her even as she spoke the words.
For a perfect, suspended moment, they existed in a world of their own making, a place where time and circumstance couldn’t touch them. Then reality came crashing back, and with it, the weight of her secret. The truth that stretched between them like an uncrossable chasm. But for now, in the shelter of his arms, Kate allowed herself to believe that some bridges could be built, even across centuries.
“Connor,” she began, her voice unsteady, “there’s something about me that I need to tell you. Something I’ve been keeping to myself.”
He watched her, waiting, his eyes still dark with desire but now tinged with concern.
Kate took a deep breath. “I’m not... I’m not who you think I am.” The words stuck in her throat. How could she possibly explain? I’m from the future. I was born three hundred years from now. Everything you know about me is built on a lie.
The magnitude of it overwhelmed her, and she faltered.
“Lass,” Connor said gently, misinterpreting her hesitation, “you don’t have to explain yourself to me. Whatever brought you here, whatever you’re running from, it doesn’t matter. What matters is who you are now.”
His kindness only made her feel worse. If only it were that simple. If only she was just running from a bad relationship or a troubled past. But her truth was so much more impossible.
“You don’t understand,” she whispered.
“Then help me understand,” he replied, his fingers intertwining with hers. “But know this, nothing you could tell me would change what I feel for you.”
The certainty in his voice made her heart ache. How could he be so sure when he didn’t know the truth? If she told him everything, would he still look at her with that warmth in his eyes, or would he recoil in fear and disbelief? Call her witch ?
“I’m afraid,” she admitted finally.
Connor’s expression softened. “Of what, mo chridhe ?”
The Gaelic endearment, my heart , nearly undid her. “Of losing this. Of losing you.”
He lifted their joined hands to his lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “You won’t lose me. I’m right here.”
She wanted desperately to believe him, but fear held her back. Instead of words, she leaned into him again, finding his lips with hers. This time, their kiss was tinged with a bittersweet ache, a promise and a plea rolled into one.
When they separated, Connor kept her close, his forehead resting against hers. “The storm won’t last forever,” he murmured. “But this, what’s between us, I believe it could.”
She closed her eyes, letting his words wash over her. How had she come to care so deeply for this man in such a short time? And how could she bear the thought of leaving him if, when, she found a way home?
As if reading her troubled thoughts, Connor began to speak, his voice low and soothing in the dim cave.
“There’s an old legend in our clan,” he said, “about the Bronmuir Brooch. It’s said to have been gifted to the first MacLeod by the old gods themselves, at a time when the world was changing.”
Kate’s heart skipped a beat at the mention of the brooch. She’d seen it only twice. The first time was in her own time, the second when Connor had brought it out to duplicate it. It sounded silly, but she swore it called to her.
“What kind of legend?” she asked, trying to keep her voice casual.
Connor shifted, settling her more comfortably against him. “They say it holds power over time itself, that it was forged at the meeting place between worlds, where the veil is thin.”
A chill that had nothing to do with the weather ran down Kate’s spine.
“The old stories tell of a woman. Some say she was the Cailleach herself, who appears during great storms, at the edges of time.” Connor’s voice had taken on the cadence of a storyteller, rich and rhythmic. “She guides lost souls to where they truly belong.”
Kate could barely breathe. “Do you... do you believe these stories?”
Connor was silent for a moment, considering. “I believe in what I’ve seen,” he said finally. “And I’ve seen enough in my life to know that there are forces at work beyond our understanding.”
He looked down at her, his eyes searching her face. “And you...? You are not like other women, Kate. I’ve known it from the first moment I saw you.”
The air between them seemed to vibrate with unspoken truths. Kate felt as if she stood on the edge of a precipice, one step forward and everything would change.
But she chickened out. “I’m just... me,” she said weakly.
Connor’s smile was gentle. “Aye, you are. And that’s more than enough.”
He pressed a kiss to her forehead, then shifted to add more wood to the fire. “We should rest. The storm will pass by morning.”
Kate nodded, suddenly exhausted by the emotional weight of their conversation. He pulled his plaid over them as they lay near the fire, his arm a protective weight across her waist.
Despite her turbulent thoughts, she found herself drifting toward sleep, lulled by the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against her back, the sounds of the horses, and the now-distant rumble of thunder.
Her last conscious thought was of the brooch and its supposed power over time. If the legends were true, could it be her way home? And if it was... did she still want to go?
* * *
Dawn broke clear and bright, the storm having spent its fury during the night. Sunlight filtered through the cave entrance, painting patterns on the stone walls.
Kate woke first, momentarily disoriented by the unfamiliar surroundings. Then she felt Connor’s arm around her waist, his body warm against her back, and memory flooded back. The storm, the cave. That kiss.
She lay still, listening to his steady breathing, reluctant to disturb this moment of peace. Outside, birds were singing, celebrating the return of clear skies. The world felt washed clean, as if the storm had swept away more than just the dust.
Connor stirred behind her, his arm tightening briefly around her waist. “Morning, lass,” he murmured, his voice rough with sleep.
Kate turned to face him, finding his blue eyes already open and watching her. “Good morning.”
There was a moment of uncertainty between them, a question of whether what had happened in the darkness would survive in the light of day. Then Connor reached out, brushing a strand of hair from her face with gentle fingers, and Kate knew that something fundamental had shifted between them.
“We should return,” he said softly.
“Yes,” Kate agreed, though part of her wished they could stay in this secluded place a little longer, away from the complications of the outside world.
Connor stretched, glancing toward the entrance where pale golden light spilled onto the flagstones. Kate yawned, rubbing her arms as she gathered her satchel.
The thought hit her as she tried to shake the heaviness from her mind. “It’s the 4th of July. Or, as I like to say, spilling the tea since 1776.” She clapped a hand over her mouth.
Connor cocked his head, a puzzled smile flickering across his lips. “Since when?”
Kate froze, heart thudding. She’d let her tongue run away with her again. “Just... something I used to say at home. About, you know, the storm. Or perfect days you’ll always remember,” she added quickly, hoping he wouldn’t press. Still, she couldn’t help feeling a pang at missing one of her favorite holidays. America was a long way from her revolution. In her own time, her friends would be barbecuing, watching fireworks painting the sky, swimming in someone’s pool, and she was here, centuries away, hiding in a cave with a Highland warrior.
Connor moved closer. “Is it an important day where you come from?”
She forced another smile, blinking fast. “Yes. Back home, it’s the day we think about... freedom.” She coughed, waving a hand. “And maybe spill a little tea for old times’ sake.”
He searched her face a moment longer, then nodded with quiet acceptance. “Well, perhaps one day, you’ll tell me that story.”
Kate just squeezed his hand in return, her bittersweet smile lingering.
They rose and prepared to leave in comfortable silence, each stealing glances at the other when they thought they wouldn’t be caught. The horses were well-rested and eager to be moving, and soon they were making their way back toward Bronmuir Keep.
As they rode side by side, Connor reached across the space between them and took Kate’s hand, squeezing it gently. No words were needed. The gesture said everything.