Catherine Meets the Highlander (Scottish Highlander I Never Knew #3)
Chapter 1
CHAPTER 1
“ T hanks for the tip! See ya tomorrow in class," Catherine shouted to a student she had just finished a tutoring session with as they departed ways.
She looked at her phone, realizing that she was going to be late if she didn’t hustle. "Oh, no. Alright, where is…?" She turned down a path of the old University campus and quickened her step.
In the heart of modern-day Edinburgh, amidst the venerable spires and age-worn stone archways of the university campus, postdoctoral student Catherine Braddock strolled with purpose. The juxtaposition of old and new was woven into the very fabric of the place, as time-honored architecture embraced modern academia. Gothic facades stood as silent sentinels, bearing witness to generations of scholars while modern accents seamlessly blended, a testament to the passage of time.
The sky above was a canvas of cold gray, the Scottish weather painting an atmospheric symphony. The air held a biting chill, weaving whispers of mist through the stone structures that had seen centuries unfold. Catherine's breath mingled with the frigid air as she traversed the cobblestone paths, her steps echoing the footsteps of countless others who had tread this hallowed ground, something that really excited her deep within.
Catherine herself was a figure both rooted in the present and mysteriously linked to the past. With long, straight auburn hair cascading like a curtain of burnished silk, she possessed an air of elegance that caught the eye. Her green eyes, as vibrant as the Scottish moors, held a spark of intelligence and curiosity that shone like a beacon in the gray surroundings, which was a testament for an American girl.
Clad in comfortable but warm clothing, her jeans hugged her tall, slim frame, accentuating her poise. Boots, sturdy and laced, carried her through the campus with unwavering steps keeping her feet dry. A cozy sweater embraced her figure, cocooning her against the chill, while a wool pea coat draped gracefully over her shoulders, adding an air of sophistication to her ensemble.
Yet, beneath her modern attire, Catherine was more than a product of her times. She carried with her a passion for history, particularly the enigmatic tapestry of 17th-century Scotland. A postdoctoral candidate, she was dedicated to unraveling the threads of time that connected her to that distant era. Her scholarly pursuits were matched only by her feisty determination to leave her mark on the academic world, especially feeling as an outcast amongst the locals.
As she walked the grounds of the university, Catherine's thoughts danced between the ancient stories she unraveled and the vibrant life that pulsed around her. The murmur of students in lively discussion, the rustle of leaves stirred by the breeze, and the distant echo of church bells created a symphony of moments intertwined with the echoes of history.
In this juxtaposition of eras, where old and new converged in a harmonious dance, Catherine moved forward. She was a modern woman driven by an insatiable curiosity, destined to be entangled in a tale that spanned centuries, a narrative that would unveil the secrets of her own heart and the timeless beauty of the Scottish highlands, and at the moment she couldn’t be late. Catherine's steps led her to the edge of the university campus, where the bustling world of academia met the tranquil embrace of woodlands. The transition from scholarly walls to the untouched wilds was a portal into a different realm, a realm where knowledge mingled with the untamed whispers of nature. The boundary marked the intersection of the known and the unknown, and as Catherine crossed it, a sense of anticipation coursed through her veins.
She stepped beneath the canopy of trees, their branches reaching out like ancient fingers, touching her with a hushed reverence. The woods welcomed her, the chorus of birdsong and rustling leaves serenading her journey. Her purpose was clear, her destination etched in her heart and mind. She sought the cottage of a reclusive ex-professor, a sage of knowledge in her field of history, Professor Jameson, a man who was to illuminate the tapestry of 17th-century Scottish history.
Amongst the trees, she moved with a quiet determination, each footfall a testament to her resolve. The path was not well-worn, a reflection of the professor's own solitude, his connection to a world that had once been his life. She had sent him an email, and in his cryptic reply, he had promised to impart his wisdom on the nuances of the clan conflicts, a historical enigma that had captivated her academic pursuits.
As she ventured deeper, the stone cottage emerged from the verdant landscape like a hidden treasure. Gray stones held stories within their rugged surfaces, climbing vines clung to the walls, weaving a tapestry of nature's artistry. It stood as a solitary guardian of knowledge, its windows like watchful eyes peering out into the wild expanse.
Her heart pounded with a blend of excitement and trepidation as she raised her hand and knocked on the cottage door. The silence that followed felt as though the woods themselves held their breath. But there was no answer, no sign of life within those ancient walls. The eeriness of the quiet sent a shiver down her spine, a ghostly reminder that she had entered a realm of mysteries, both historical and present.
Filled with uncertainty and determination, she raised her hand to knock again, her knuckles tapping against the heavy wooden door. No answer. Venturing around the cottage, Catherine's gaze fixed upon the back door, slightly ajar, as if inviting her into a realm of secrets. The whispers of the wind seemed to beckon her forward, to cross that threshold and uncover what lay within. With a steadying breath, she approached, her heart echoing the rhythm of her footsteps.
Summoning her courage, she called out, her voice a cautious melody that carried through the air. "Hello, Professor Jameson?" The absence of a response left her with a decision to make, a choice to venture further into the realm of the unknown. Pushing the door open, her fingers brushed against the rough wood.
Though hesitating at the threshold, Catherine's curiosity surged, compelling her to peer inside. What greeted her gaze was unexpected—a man with dark hair that tousled slightly in the breeze. His face bore the scars of a life lived, marking his journey with tales untold. Despite the rugged scars, there was a certain attractiveness to him, an allure that transcended the surface, reminding her of life's complexities beyond the pages of her academic pursuits.
The realization of her own vulnerability in the face of an enigmatic figure left her feeling uneasy but filled with excitement.
The man with the scar spoke, his voice carrying a hint of gravel and warmth. “Please, come in lass,” he said, his words a gentle invitation that hung in the air like a delicate thread.
Catherine's gaze met his, uncertainty swirling in the depths of her eyes. The enigmatic figure before her held a certain intrigue, and though caution urged her to retreat, curiosity pulled her forward. “Are you the Professor?” she inquired, her voice a mixture of anticipation and unease.
A smile curved on his lips, a response devoid of words but heavy with affirmation. “Do come in, lass, we’ve much to discuss.”
Catherine stood on the threshold full of doubt, but also intrigued by this man. She pondered the significance of this encounter, her scholarly mind weaving threads of logic and curiosity.
“You’ve come to learn about the past, have you not? You’ve been drawn to it since a child, do you no longer wish to understand why?” he asked, arching a brow as he watched her hovering on the doorstep.
With a breath that steadied her resolve, she took the leap, her feet carrying her over the invisible boundary that separated her from the man with the scar whose enigmatic gaze never left hers.
But as she stepped across the threshold, a sensation unlike any other enveloped her—a floating, ethereal feeling that defied description. Darkness swirled around her, a velvety abyss that swallowed her senses whole. The world seemed to unravel, the cottage and the man fading into nothingness as she surrendered to the enigma of the unknown.
Time held no meaning in this expanse of obsidian, her senses suspended in a state of liminal surrender. Weightlessness embraced her, a sensation akin to fainting, the edges of her awareness fraying like old parchment. She drifted, the boundaries of her person, dissolving into the infinite darkness, leaving behind the world she knew and stepping into the realm of uncertainty that lay beyond.
In this intangible void, Catherine was adrift, her consciousness untethered. Yet, even within the emptiness, a whisper of connection persisted—a thread of consciousness that bound her to the scarred man and the mysteries that had led her to this precipice.