To Conquer a Scot (A Time Traveler’s Highland Love) Read online

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Epilogue

  Author Note

  About the Author

  Discover more historical romance from Entangled… To Love a Scandalous Duke

  The Highlander Who Loved Me

  Rogue of the Highlands

  Tangled Hearts

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright © 2017 by Tamara Gill. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.

  Entangled Publishing, LLC

  2614 South Timberline Road

  Suite 109

  Fort Collins, CO 80525

  Visit our website at www.entangledpublishing.com.

  Select Historical is an imprint of Entangled Publishing, LLC.

  Edited by Erin Molta

  Cover design by Erin Dameron-Hill

  Cover art from Deposit Photos and Period Images

  ISBN 978-1-64063-249-3

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  First Edition September 2017

  Prologue

  1601 Highlands, Scotland

  He should have locked her up when he had the chance. His sisters were the bane of his life. Aedan MacLeod, Laird of Druiminn Castle, stormed toward the small cottage his youngest sister Gwen used while treating the sick and infirm.

  Not even the calming view of the ocean could tamper his temper. The fact he’d heard whispers from the servants that Gwen was “up to something” as they’d put it, had given him enough cause to chase her down today and demand an explanation and a promise that she was not.

  “Gwen!” he called out as he neared, hearing the muffled reply from inside. He burst through the door, startling the elderly woman who was hobbling out. Aedan waited for her to go before shutting the door and catching his sister’s gaze. “I’ve heard whispers.”

  “Whispers?” She smiled and his annoyance increased. “What sort of whispers?”

  “You’re forbidden to use magic, Gwendolyn. We’ve had this conversation before and it’s certainly not one I want to repeat.”

  “Och, I am in trouble when ye use my full name. Tell me what you’ve heard this time. I’m sure it’s nothing to concern yer wee mind.”

  “The servants are talking about ye. Stating how ye’re all secretive again, sneaking away to this cottage at all times of day and night. Picking lots of herbs and such.”

  “Herbs ye say.” Gwen laughed, walking over to a nearby cupboard and getting down a bowl. “And this equates to magic?”

  “I know what ye are capable of, lass. Dinna think for one moment I’m not aware of what could happen to you, or this family, should it be known. You know as well as I, ye’d be dead and there’d be nothing I could do for ye.”

  She waved away his concerns and started to pummel lavender flowers with a mortar and pestle. She continued with her tasks, ignoring him. “Well,” he prompted.

  “Brother, I’ve been using magic since I was a babe and no harm has been done. It’s the same now. Ye worry too much.”

  “I know you’re up to something, and I demand to know what it is. Braxton mentioned it to me yesterday after he came back from visiting ye here.”

  “Braxton told ye, did he? That’ll teach me to trust him.”

  He watched as she took her frustration out on the plants that hung from a wooden rack above her work table. He dismissed the flicker of guilt that he’d possibly caused trouble for his fellow clansman and glowered at Gwen instead. She pulled the leaves off with enough force that the rack rocked above their heads.

  “He was concerned. Ye know the lad loves ye, and like me, he doesn’t like you putting yourself at risk. So tell me what I want to know. Why are ye being so secretive all of a sudden? What are ye planning?”

  She shook her head, her red curls bouncing over her shoulders. “Nothing at all. I assure ye. I’m behaving myself, as the laird’s sister should. Do not worry, Aedan. Everything will turn out for the best.”

  “Yes, but what is this ‘best’ ye speak of? That concerns me.”

  She didn’t reply, merely shrugged. Aedan fisted his hands. Obstinate, pigheaded wench. “Ye better not be trying to meddle in who I choose for a wife. ’Tis none of yer business, and I willna take nicely to ye using magic to sway women to warm me bed.”

  She slammed down the pestle and glared back at him. “I assure ye, I would never interfere in your grand plans for a wife. I know you’ll marry someone who has an opinion, a mind, and the willingness to share their thoughts when required.”

  “Your sarcasm isn’t appreciated.” He walked toward the door of her cottage and placed his hands on his hips. Better there than her neck. “Ye know what I want in a wife and I’ll find her myself. So if ye don’t mind, and if ye don’t want me to lock ye in the castle dungeons, you’ll behave and keep out of my business. I may not know what ye be planning, but I know you’re up to something and no doubt it’ll involve me. I’ve put up with a lot of ye tricks over the years, but with the clans coming for the games, it’s time ye grew up. I’ll no longer stand for it.”

  His sister curtsied and he ground his teeth. He might as well be talking to a stone wall. “Dinna push me on this, Gwen.”

  “Of course not, brother. When have I ever not listened to ye?”

  He sighed and cursed as he left before he was tempted to strangle the idiocy out of her. Why couldn’t his parents have had sons? Brothers, right at this moment, seemed like a blissful thought indeed.

  Chapter One

  Present Day, Scotland

  Abigail Cross walked from her hotel and breathed deep the fresh, somewhat chilly Highland air. The sun was shining, finally, which was a nice change from the past week where drizzle and endless fog had shrouded Druiminn, the small Scottish town where she was staying. It had seemed a lot larger on the travel brochure.

  She pulled her coat up around her neck, her choice of jeans and a woolen sweater had been a sensible decision. Probably her best yet, since this vacation had been anything but fun. Never again would she jump on a plane and fly halfway across the world. Salem, Oregon, and the plain boring life she led there, suddenly seemed fun-filled and exciting.

  Not to mention a little less wet…and that was saying something, since Salem was anything but dry.

  Abby shook away the thought that her vacation was a waste of time. She was in Scotland, for heaven’s sake. The place of myths and legends. Where the filming of fabulous historical movies were shot, sporting men in kilts…and little else. Her own ancestors hailed from this part of the world. Not that she knew of any still living i
n Scotland, after her great, great—so many greats she no longer knew—grandfather had emigrated to America.

  The weather, the expense—one she really couldn’t afford, that would take years to pay off, no longer signified, for today she was determined to enjoy the magnificence of the Highlands. Not let the darkening clouds to the south scare her back inside the hotel she’d come to know intimately. Castle Druiminn was her destination. A step back in time, a castle and home to the MacLeod Clan, where treachery, missionaries, and mayhem should’ve been the family’s motto.

  She walked up the main street of the town and entered the bakery. The air in the warm store was filled with the aroma of cooking bread and spices. She bought some chocolate frosted croissants before continuing on her way to the castle.

  It was a bit of a walk, and Abby took her time enjoying the view of heather, and rolling hills, and craggy rock faces, as she continued toward the castle. On the opposite side of the road, the beautiful Isle of Skye glistened in the sun. The sense of belonging to this land coursed through her. Scotland was in her blood, her ancestors had survived living in the lowlands for years, had raised children, fought the English, disease, and a harsh environment she couldn’t even begin to imagine.

  It was a humbling thought and for once, the tinge of red that streaked through her dark hair didn’t annoy her, but filled her with pride.

  Scotland was magnificent.

  She gazed down on the information map she’d acquired the week before, noting that the castle was only a five minute walk through woodlands and ocean view lanes. She was relatively sheltered from the elements up to the point where she walked over a rise and the sea breeze buffeted her. She blinked rapidly as her eyes watered from the icy gale.

  She really should’ve bought the more expensive jacket, instead of scrimping, but her poor credit card really couldn’t take too many more beatings.

  The path followed the line of the beach, and she came to a sign that stated the Square Walled Garden was up a little lane, but a small, quaint cottage caught her attention. The building was made of stone, a similar color to that of the buildings in town, but looked like a one-room structure with a chimney. Grass grew on the roof, making the house blend into the environment like some modern “green” home. A small garden grew in front with a whitewashed picket fence surrounding it.

  For its age, it seemed relatively sturdy and in reasonable condition. She stood staring at it and wondered at its history. Who’d lived here? Who had built it and why? Was it haunted?

  She chuckled and said hello to other tourists heading toward the castle which was her next stop.

  Walking up to the door, she read the sign that explained the cottage’s past. It was part of the Druiminn Castle estate and believed to be the Apothecary’s or healer’s building. She peeked around the door and was met by darkness and the smell of dampness.

  “Hello? Anybody here?” Abby stood at the threshold for a moment, but hearing no reply, she pushed the door open and entered. Inside was a plain square room, with an unlit fireplace and a window beside the door. The floor was covered in flagstones, years of dirt and dust making up its mortar.

  Abby walked around and wondered what the building had seen over the years. How it must have been set up to help those in need. How many babies had been birthed here, children healed, and people stitched up?

  Looking out the window, she sighed. Rain fell, the dark clouds to the south had arrived earlier than she’d hoped. Well, at least in the cottage she was dry, if not warm.

  She sat on the window ledge. There was nothing else for her to do but wait out the storm and hope it passed quickly. It was an overly ambitious thought. The weather had been miserable ever since her arrival. Why would it change now?

  Her hand slipped against something cold, and she looked down to find a small vial. It was bottle-like shaped with a neck and looked to be made of clay.

  Abby picked it up, studied it a moment before placing it back down. Nausea spiked in her stomach and she clutched her abdomen, trying to calm her breathing. She gasped and stood, dizziness threatening. The room spun, voices, faces—she couldn’t comprehend. What is happening to me?

  Fear froze her to the spot. She tried to fight her way to the door, but the room turned at an increasing rate, making it impossible to leave. Something bad was happening. Something she couldn’t control.

  She screamed and then hit the floor with an oomph before blackness enfolded her.

  Chapter Two

  “Abigail, are ye well?”

  Abby opened her eyes, the stone floor beneath her back seeping coldness into her bones. She sat up and looked about. The memory of what had happened to her was as clear as the woman sitting before her. Smiling at her like some long lost friend.

  “Who are you?” She sat up and scooted away from the girl—woman, she corrected herself—as the stranger stood and Abby was able to get a better look at her. She was tall, and well into her twenties.

  “I’m Gwen MacLeod. I summoned ye.”

  “What?” Abby rubbed her hand and looked about the room. The empty, lifeless building she’d walked into was now full to the brim with bottles with different colored ointments. Herbs hung from the ceiling, some freshly picked and others dried. A roaring fire burned in the grate and a pot hung over it, cooking some sort of food that smelled nicer than anything she’d tasted since landing in Scotland.

  “What do you mean by ‘summoned’?”

  “Please, don’t stress yourself. I promise I can send you home. Eventually, mind ye. Just let me explain.”

  Abby narrowed her eyes. The woman’s Scottish dialect was strong, and yet she spoke clear enough that Abby could understand what she’d said. “Are you going to hurt me?” There was no way in hell she was hanging around here if this summoner wanted her in the pot of stew now bubbling in the grate.

  “I would never hurt ye, I promise. I’m a healer, a forward-thinking woman who likes to study other spiritual beliefs. But that declaration must stay between us, if ye don’t mind. Only my family knows of my gifts, and I would like it to stay that way.”

  Abby stepped toward the fire, spotting a large iron pole beside it. If only she could reach it without being obvious, she may have some way of getting out of here. Although, where she’d go was another question altogether, if she was in fact no longer in the twenty-first century.

  “Very interesting, but I fail to understand why you’ve summoned me here. And where is here, exactly? What have you done?”

  The woman’s cheeks flushed in what Abby assumed to be embarrassment. Well good. She should be embarrassed. Dragging people out of their lives, supposably, for who knew if this woman was speaking the truth, was unacceptable. Not to mention dangerous.

  “Ye are in Scotland in the year of our Lord, 1601. At my home, Druiminn Castle. This cottage is where I tend to our people, and heal them.”

  Abby took another step. “1601.” She rubbed her temple, a headache forming behind her eyes. “I can’t be in seventeenth century Scotland. Everyone died of disease or was slaughtered in battle, male or female. I’ve seen Braveheart. I’ve learned all I need to know about this time and I don’t want to stay here. You have to send me home. Now.” Abby craned her neck to look out the window, but couldn’t spot anyone to give her a sense of what was real or make-believe.

  The woman stared at her a moment before laughing. “I knew ye would be perfect. I’ve been watching ye for some time, although I had to wait for ye to be in Scotland before I could bring ye back.” She clapped her hands together and thunder rumbled outside.

  Abby slid her hand around the pole and held it up in front of her as she walked to the window. The view made the hair on the back of her neck stand up. Where there was once a garden before the cottage, now there was nothing but a few herbs and a rugged path.

  The well-defined gravel walkway she’d used to get to the cottage was gone, in fact, trampled grass was the only indication that people walked this way at all.

  This isn�
�t good. “I demand you send me home. Now. This very instant. You’ve gone too far and I don’t know what you think I’m going to be perfect for, but I’m not having any of it. So, unless you want me to do something I might regret later, you’ll do as I ask, right now.”

  Gwen’s shoulders sagged, and she held out her hands to stall her. “Please, I really don’t mean ye any harm. Just let me explain.”

  “You have exactly ten seconds to explain, and then you can send me home.” Abby glared to emphasize her point. The woman seemed to get it.

  “Ever since I was born I’ve had the ability to see things, not of my own time unfortunately, but places, events, well into the future. All my life I’ve known of ye, as you’ve grown, so have I, even though we were born centuries apart. I feel like I know ye verra well.”

  “That’s all very nice for you, but what do you want from me? I don’t belong in this time. I’ll probably be slaughtered the moment I walk out that door by some English army who hates everything Scottish. Or some Highlander lord with a penchant for killing innocent women with axes.” Gwen laughed and Abby waved the pole.

  “My brother the laird must marry and produce a child as deemed by our father’s dying wish. My brother will proclaim any day now his intention to marry. You, Abigail Cross, are perfect for him and must marry the laird as soon as ye may.”

  Abby dropped the pole and then scrambled to pick it up. “What, that’s crazy! I’m not marrying some barbaric, filthy Scottish laird. There may be some hot historical romance novels out there sporting lairds with delightful packages under their kilts, but it’s fiction. Your brother probably never bathes, has bad breath, kills on a whim, and demands obedience from everyone.” Abby started to pace. The absurdity of the situation made perspiration break out everywhere. Great, now I’ll smell as well. “Do you know what century I’m from? What year? I can’t be here because you decided I would make your brother a good wife. I need to go home. Now.”

  Gwen paled, and Abby was glad of it. The troublemaking witch needed to back the hell off and send her home.

  “I can’t. Not right at this moment. Magic doesn’t work that way. You’ve traveled through time, Abigail. To send you back straight away could leave you stranded in some other time that isn’t your own. I’m sorry, but for the time being, you must stay.”