Chapter 30
Chapter
Thirty
Callum is going to die.
The thought haunts me as I crouch in the shadows of the kitchen garden. The freezing ground digs into my knees, and my breath clouds the air. I rub my hands for warmth and consider my options. But it’s no good. Panic keeps shattering my focus.
I need to get him out.
But how? I don’t know this land, these people, their laws. I don’t even know where they’ve taken him, how many guards there are, if I even stand a chance.
What if I make things worse?
I press a fist to my heart, forcing the fear back down. No. Think. I can do this. Callum doesn’t know it yet, but I’m not leaving him to die. I just need to find a way.
After the guards dragged him away, I clutched the laird’s hand, begging, pleading for him to punish me instead. But the old man only sighed, his voice leaden with finality. It’s the bog for the lad come morning. The words loop in my head like a curse.
Aoife bursts into the garden. “Mo thruaigh! There ye are. Aire! Donag says if the lad’s to die, so will you. She demands blood for blood.”
I get to my feet, gaping at her. “She wants, like…my actual blood?”
Aoife gives me a pitying look. “Vengeance is duty here, lass. ’Tis the Highland way.” She pulls a worn coin from her bodice, rubbing a thumb over the faded inscription. “Look. ’Tis written on the king’s own shilling.”
I squint at it. “I can’t read that.”
She sounds it out anyway. “Nemo me impune lacessit.”
“Still don’t understand Latin.”
She grunts impatiently, thinks for a moment, then, “Cha togar m’ fhearg gun dìoladh,” she says with a nod, as if she’s clarified everything.
I throw up my hands. “Aoife, I swear—”
“If ye harm me, I harm ye,” she translates at last.
I go still.
“But I didn’t harm Donag,” I protest.
“You harmed her Callum. ’Tis the same to her.”
“That’s insane.” Hopelessness crashes over me. I rake a hand through my hair. How can I save Callum if Donag’s trying to kill me? I can’t hide in this garden forever. “I’m just trying to save him.”
“And save him ye will.” Aoife’s eyes gleam.
“But I’m just…me. The kitchen girl.”
“Och, and who d’ye think does the rescuing when the men are doomed?”
I blink. “What?”
She lifts her chin. “The men do the fighting, aye. But ’tis we women who do the mending.”
It clicks. This isn’t over. I’m not alone. I can do this.
“No more blood,” I say firmly. “Nobody’s dying.”
“No indeed.” Aoife tucks the coin away before grabbing my arm and hauling me toward the potato cellar. “Off with ye now. Cozy up wi’ the tatties while I get to work. Mayhap they’ll grant ye some wisdom.”
As I hide, Aoife gathers what I’ll need. Callum’s sword, food, water.
By the time I step into the night—stiff, cold, and cobwebby—I’m ready. My plan is simple. Free Callum. Return to my own time.
I’m not going without him.
He’s my truest friend. Steady and kind, with the biggest heart of anyone I’ve ever known. Better and wiser than these Campbells, who apparently consider ear-removal a reasonable punishment. If I go, Callum goes.
We’ll travel to this island he told me about. We still need to figure out details—exact timing, the chant, all that—but he once mentioned there’s a witch on his father’s side of the family, so maybe we can track her down.
The point is, we’ll figure it out. Together.
The climb up Tom a Chrodhaidh hill is brutal.
I keep one hand on Callum’s sword hilt, mimicking how he holds it when on alert.
I’ve looped the leather belt around itself to keep the scabbard above my hips.
I doubt I could free the weapon quickly, much less use it, but doing as he would reassures me.
A branch snaps somewhere behind me. I freeze, opening my senses to the night. Nothing. Just the wind.
But now I’m terrified. What if Hamish is already there? What if I’m too late? What if he’s already hurting Callum?
I push faster up the steep hill, heather grabbing at my skirts like hands. My foot snags, and I stumble, then stumble again, biting back a curse. A twisted ankle would doom us both.
The climb stretches endlessly, the hill rising like some cruel Highland illusion. Then, finally, a break in the darkness. A faint smudge of purple where land meets sky. I’m nearing the top at last.
The silhouette of a tree materializes from the shadows, black and skeletal, like something long dead. A cage hangs low from its branches. And at the base, something hunched, unmoving. A body.
No.
Callum’s body.
Forget my ankles—I hike up my skirts and race toward him, flinging myself to a stop like a baseball player sliding into home.
But I’m not nearly so athletic, because Callum’s sword catches the ground, tripping me. I crash into the cage, sending it swaying on its chains, before dropping to the dirt on my butt.
I shift to my knees and look up.
Callum’s grin meets me. I can just make out the gleaming line of his teeth, and even in the darkness, I can tell his eyes are smiling. We reach for each other through the bars, his fingers wrapping around mine. There’s laughter in his voice as he says, “Brilliant landing.”
“Are you making fun of me? Because I could leave you here.” I’m giving him my best glare, but I don’t budge my hand from his. It feels too good. He feels too good.
“I’d never consider mocking a lass with a blade.” He nods toward his sword at my waist. “’Tis quite a canny scabbard you’ve rigged for yourself.”
I reluctantly slide my hand from under his. “Yeah, well, I should work fast, or I might have to use the thing.”
His smile fades. I watch the moment joy turns to grief.
“Rosie-love,” he breathes. “I can’t—” He swallows hard. “I’m happy to see you. So happy my heart breaks with it. But I cannae allow this.”
I pluck loose the half dozen hairpins I’ve jammed into a hideous bun on top of my head, pinching them between my lips as I go. From the corner of my mouth, I ask, “Allow what?”
“Whatever this is.” His eyes are tracking my every move.
“Truly, love. ’Tisn’t safe for you here.
I’m not afraid to face my fate, but I couldnae bear watching you suffer.
” Lightening his tone, he says, “We Highlanders have a saying: He that’s born to be hanged will never be drowned… or is it the other way round?”
“You’re not going to hang or drown.” I extract the final pins, sending my hair tumbling around my shoulders. Running my fingers over my scalp, I mutter, “So much better.”
I look up to find his eyes devouring me. “My angel in the heather,” he whispers. “I’m not worth this.”
Ignoring his complaints, I pull a hairpin from between my lips. I try to bend the tip, but it just slices into my finger before springing away into the grass. “Dammit. It’s so dark out here.”
He shuffles closer, clenching the bars as he peers down at me. The cage creaks with his movement. “Mo ghràidh. Please. You must go.”
“I’m not going anywhere without you.”
“You mustn’t fret over me. I can’t allow you to stay.”
“Yeah? You can’t make me go, either. You’re inside a cage, if you haven’t noticed.” I roll my shoulders and adjust my grip, forcing a grin. “So please hold yer wheeesh or whatever it is you people say so I can get on with this.”
Starlight glows through a rift in the clouds, and I scoot sideways to catch it. Holding the end of the next hairpin against the floor of the cage, I try again to bend it.
He eyes me skeptically. “Get on with what?”
It works. I’ve shaped the top of the hairpin into a tiny L-shaped hook.
I let out a little squeal. “I knew this girlie stuff must be good for something.” I spit the rest of the pins into my palm, dropping them in my dress pocket with a shudder.
“Bleh. What is that metal? It’d be pretty ironic if I traveled back in time only to be killed by lead poisoning. ”
“This isnae the time to jest.” Callum looks ready to jump out of his skin. “Nothing will kill you. But you must leave. Please heed me, Rose. Campbell will—”
“We’re done with Campbells.” I tuck my loose hair behind my ears and stand up to study the padlock. Cupping it in my hand, I stick the hooked end of the hairpin into the tumbler and jiggle. “I’m getting you out of here.”
“With hairpins?” Callum scoots closer, angling his head to better track my progress.
“Yup. Only it looks easier in the movies.” I shake out my hand then adjust my grip on the hairpin.
I tune out the soft creaking of the cage to focus on the lock.
I probe for the pins inside, feeling for anything that might give.
Something shifts, then a faint click. “Ooh! I think…” I take a second hairpin and jiggle it into the keyhole, raking it along the bottom until I feel another tiny click.
A rush of triumph shoots through me. “I’ve almost got it. ”
“You brilliant wee burglar.” The wonder in his voice makes me swell with pride. “And I thought you were an innocent.”
I scoff. “Fat lot of good that ever got me.”
“You’re doing a grand job being wicked now,” he says in a low rasp.
“I’m a natural.” My tone is light but my pulse quickens. This conversation is taking on a different meaning.
“What other tricks have you the knack of?”
I feel him watching me, hear his breathing. And I’m breathing him. His scent fills my senses—trees, wool, and a whiff of man skin. I’m acutely aware of him, and of me. Of every millimeter of every capillary pulsing beneath my skin.
“I’m afraid this is about as exciting as I get.” My attempted laugh comes out as a nervous puff of air.
“I’m afraid I disagree.” His hand reaches through the bars, his thumb stroking slow circles on the inside of my wrist. “I’m finding you to be quite thrilling.”
The hairpin slips from my fingers. I fumble for it, cursing, but my hands are shaking too much to hold on.
Callum notices. His touch stills, his tone grows gentle. “Rosie?”
He’s the only thing that matters, and that terrifies me. If I let myself feel the true force of my feelings, I’ll never get through this. I need a clear head. I need a distraction.
I swallow hard, grabbing for the safer, more familiar pain.
“The only reason I even know how to do this is because of Janet.” As I fish through my pocket for another pin, I wait for him to say something, but he’s silent, and I find myself continuing my nervous ramble.
“When I was little, I’d get these nightmares.
I’d wake up in the middle of the night, convinced I’d been abandoned.
I’d go knock on my mother’s door, but she’d lock herself in and never answer.
I mean”—I huff a humorless laugh—“she barely answered me when she was awake. So, I figured out how to break in.”
I let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “She was pissed.” I bend over the lock, focusing.
“That doorknob was my first. An easy push-button thing. The front door was harder—I had to watch a video to learn that one.” I sigh, giving the padlock in my hand a cynical smirk.
“I think I mentioned Janet’s favorite childcare method.
When she didn’t want to deal with me, she’d lock me out of the house.
But I was just a kid, right? Didn’t want to pee in the yard like some animal, so I learned how to pick that one, too. And, yeah…”
Callum is silent. So silent I’m not even sure he’s still breathing. But I feel his gaze—weightier somehow. As if he’s peering through the darkness, through the centuries, trying to learn me.
It’s a million times scarier than any of his suggestive banter.
“What?” I ask tightly, keeping my complete focus on the lock. I dare not brave even the slightest glance at him.
“It’s true then,” he finally says in a low voice. “Donag’s summoning. ‘Come thee, bold lass, whose soul burns steadfast.’ I’ve never met a soul with a truer heart than yours. Nor one braver.” He gives a decisive nod. “Surely none lovelier.”
I’ve always wanted to feel seen. And I don’t mean the lovely part—why would I care about that when Callum sees deeper, into the most secret heart of me?
“But what is your true desire?” he asks.
My cheeks burn. “My desire?”
“Aye, the chant claims ‘Her heart’s true longing lies on Scottish land.’”
Oh, Callum. Duh. You are all I long for. My truest desire.
But for all my supposed ferocity, I’m not brave enough to say anything close to that. Instead, I tell him, “Family, I guess. I’ve always wanted to track down my family.”
He’s studying me, and I can tell he wants me to say more. I’m saved by a loud click.
The lock pops open.
I stumble back, a little unsteady on my feet, and open the cage. “Let’s get out of here.”
I turn, but before I can take a step, Callum drops from the cage and is by me in an instant, his arms wrapping around me from behind. He whispers into my ear, “Oh, my sweetest Rose, I’ll be your family—if you’ll have me.”
I part my lips to speak, but emotion chokes me.
My small family flashes through my mind.
Poppa kept me out of his sense of duty, at least in the beginning.
My mother hung around because she had no choice.
But here’s Callum—even though he doesn’t have to, even though it’s sent his world into chaos—and he’s choosing me.
I nod, a jerky up and down of my head. “I’d like that.”
He practically tackles me, scooping me up and sweeping me in a circle with a joyful shout. It morphs into a pained grunt as he gently lowers me back to my feet.
“You’re hurt,” I cry, my hands searching for injuries.
“Hush. It doesnae matter. Naught matters but you. And this.” My breath catches at the intensity in his eyes gazing down at me.
He takes my hands and places them on his cheeks, then cups his over mine, linking us.
He leans down until our foreheads touch.
“My heart beats only for you, my Rosie-love.” Callum seals his words with a lingering kiss, and though his touch is gentle, the heat of it scorches me, branding me.
He pulls away, but his lips stay whispering over mine with heart-wrenching tenderness. “I’m yours,” he vows. “Forever and for aye, through time till the end.”