Kiss of the Highlander

“Aye,” he said hoarsely. His thighs tensed and he spurred the horse into motion.

Gwen nearly lost her breath as the animal moved beneath her. It was frightening. It was dizzying. It was exhilarating. Mane ruffling in the breeze, the horse made occasional soft horsey grunts as it galloped over the emerald and heather-filled field.

It was an incredible experience. In her mind’s eye, she envisioned herself bent low over its back, soaring through the meadows and hills. She’d always wanted to learn to ride, but her parents had dictated her strenuous educational curriculum, and it had permitted no outside activities. The Cassidys were thinkers, not doers.

There was one more way she could distance herself from them, she decided. She could become a doer, and think as little as possible.

“I would like to learn to ride,” she informed him over her shoulder. She was going to be there awhile, after all, and it certainly couldn’t hurt to acquire some medieval skills. She couldn’t bear being without the freedom of transportation. In her century, when her car was in the shop, she felt trapped. She suspected it would be wise to gain all the independence she could. What if he never believed her? Married his bimbo and refused to return her to her own time? Panic flooded her at that thought. She definitely needed some basic skills.

“Mayhap the stable master can fit you into his schedule,” he said against her ear. “But I hear tell he makes his apprentices shovel out the stables.”

She shivered. Had his lips brushed it deliberately, or had the horse’s gait pressed him suddenly forward?

“Perhaps Dageus could teach me,” she countered waspishly.

“I doona think Dageus will be teaching you a blethering thing,” he said in a dangerous voice, and that time his lips did brush her ear. “And I bid you keep your lips off my brother, lest I confine you to your chambers.”

What game was he playing? Had that been jealousy lacing his deep brogue, or wishful thinking on her part?

“Besides, as long as you fear the horse, he can sense it and will not respond well. You must respect him, not fear him. Horses are sensitive, intelligent creatures, full of spirit.”

“Kind of like me, huh?” she said cheekily.

He made a sound of strangled laughter. “Nay. Horses do as they’re told. I doubt you ever do. And you certainly have a lofty opinion of yourself, doona you?”

“No more so than you.”

“I see spirit in you, lass, but you demonstrate naught else, and so long as you continue to lie to me, respect will never be part of it. Why not tell the truth?”

“Because I already did,” she snapped. “And if you don’t believe me, then why don’t you take me back through the stones?” Gwen suggested, inspired by a sudden thought. If he would only take a short one-day jaunt into the future, she could show him her world, her cars, show him where she’d found him. Why hadn’t she thought of that last night?

“Nay,” he said instantly. “The stones may never be used for personal reasons. ’Tis forbidden.”

“Ha! You just admitted that you can use them,” she pounced.

Drustan growled near her ear.

“Besides, for what other reasons would you use them? On some secret mission?” she scoffed. “And it wouldn’t be personal reasons; it would be to save your clan,” she added. “I think that’s important enough to merit using them.”

“Enough, lass. I will not continue this discussion.”

“But—”

“Enough. No more buts. And quit squirming.”

They rode the rest of the way to the village in silence.

Balanoch, although they called it “the village,” was in truth a thriving city. Drustan believed a more prosperous and peaceful city had never existed, and those who resided in Balanoch kept quiet about it when they traveled, to preserve the serenity of their Highland home.

The Keltar–Druids kept a careful watch over Balanoch, performing the ancient rituals to ensure fertility of clan and crop. They’d also placed strategic formations, known as wards, about the countryside, which worked to dissuade the curious traveler from venturing too far up the mountain.

It was their city; they would always nurture and protect it.

Aye, he thought, his gaze skimming the thatched rooftops, it was a lovely village. Centuries ago, hundreds had settled in the rich vale protected by the Keltar. Over the centuries, hundreds had become thousands. Far enough away that they had few visitors, yet near enough to the sea to trade, Balanoch housed four Kirks, two mills, chandlers, tanners, weavers, tailors, potters, blacksmiths, an armorer, shoemakers, and sundry other craftsmen.