Revenge (Book 3 of Lost Highlander series)

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Epilogue

  Lost Highlander

  Revenge

  By Cassidy Cayman

  Visit Cassidy Cayman

  at cassidycayman.wordpress.com

  Sign up for email updates!

  Read the first two books of this series:

  Lost Highlander

  Reunited

  Chapter 1

  Pietro opened his eyes. Leaden grey sky filled his blurred vision, with clouds rolling past at a dizzying pace. Pain ratcheted around in his skull as the treetops waved above his head in the wind.

  Crap. Where was he? He blinked a few times, and a flash of fall leaves, no, it was waves of soft russet hair, came into view. Worried brown eyes peered down at him.

  Bella. His Bella. She was a mix of fiery passion and icy cold disdain and he never knew which one he was going to get. Memories started coming back to him. Very nice memories of things they’d done …

  Heat rushed to his loins as he took her in. Actually, he felt rather hot all over, uncomfortably so, and clammy with chills on top of it. Okay, so he remembered Bella, but still couldn’t quite place where he was, or why.

  Her beautiful face rearranged itself into the scowl he’d grown used to when she saw he was awake. It seemed she was irritated with him again. They were bound by fate and history and he loved her, so why would he suddenly feel that clenching ache in his chest? Ah yes. She didn’t love him back. He forced this recollection to the back of his mind, not wanting to believe it was true.

  He blinked some more, as a new realization dawned on him. If he was staring up at Isobel Glen, that meant he was still firmly in the eighteenth century. Crap.

  Opposite Bella, another set of eyes peered down at him, dark blue and more impatient than worried. They belonged to the big warrior who was taking them to his land and hopefully to safety. Quinn Ferguson. He was in charge of their little escapade, and wasn’t completely thrilled with the honor.

  The two exchanged a tense glance, then Bella shook him tentatively. Pietro liked the feel of her small, warm hand on his shoulder. The ground was cold and hard beneath him. The look in her eyes also warmed him, but why should she be concerned? Perhaps he’d overslept and they were anxious to get going. Everything was so damned dangerous and urgent here in the eighteenth century. It was enough to make anyone tired.

  “I’m all right,” he said, letting his burning, bleary eyes drift shut. He was shaken again, roughly this time.

  “Ye are no’ all right,” Quinn said. “Ye’ve just fallen off your horse.”

  His eyes flew open at that and he looked from one to the other. Bella nodded in agreement with what Quinn told him.

  “Did we not stop for the night? And set up camp?”

  He could have sworn that was what had happened. They were done riding for the day so they set out their bedrolls and started a fire, then went to sleep. He laughed at the dismayed looks on their faces, but stopped abruptly when a new jolt of pain hit him right between the eyes.

  “No, ye just groaned and went over. Ye’re lucky yer neck wasna broken as ye hit the ground rather hard.”

  Bella placed her palm on his forehead and frowned. “He’s burning with fever.” She looked down at him with what he swore was tenderness. He smiled up at her and was rewarded with her darkest scowl. “Why did ye no’ say how unwell ye were?” she asked him.

  “I didn’t know,” he said. He had honestly believed they were riding along uneventfully and had no recollection of taking a header off the horse. “I guess I must have been hallucinating.” He managed to glance around and saw that there was no fire, no camp of any kind. He was just lying on his back on the side of the road. “My head does hurt a bit.” It was an understatement. His head was splitting.

  “This is no’ the safest place to stop,” Quinn said, surveying the road. He squinted into the distance and shook his head. “Looks like the scout is returning. With good news, I hope.” The look on his face was so dour it belied his statement of hopefulness.

  “Where are Piper and the bloke who wouldn’t stop hitting me?” Pietro asked, trying to sit up and look around.

  The sky remained firmly above him and the clouds churned along, their sickening motion threatening the meager contents of his stomach. His head felt like a sandbag had been dropped on it, pinning him to the ground. He didn’t think he could turn to the side if he actually did throw up.

  The corner of Quinn’s lip twitched but the weak smile didn’t reach his eyes. Bella’s brow furrowed deeper, not happy about the mention of her erstwhile husband— the man who had beaten the hell out of him, and was probably the cause of his vile headache.

  “The wee lass and my brother parted ways with us yesterday,” Quinn said. “Do ye no’ remember that either?”

  They were looking at him like he was addled. He would have rolled his eyes but it hurt too much. God, he wished the clouds would just take a break with their rolling past his vision. He tried to concentrate on the soothing dark green of the pines instead, and breathed deeply. Once again he tried to sit up, but his limbs wouldn’t cooperate.

  “Aye, I remember now. Ye needn’t look at me that way. My head hurts is all.”

  The pounding hooves of the scout barreling up on them didn’t help at all. The man had ridden hard to catch up to them with his news.

  Pietro lay in anxious frustration as Quinn went to hear what the man had to say. He spoke in an agitated undertone, pacing back and forth in front of his heaving and lathered horse.

  “What are they saying?” Pietro asked Bella.

  With intense concentration, he managed to sit up, rocking forward and resting his head on his knees. She stroked the back of his neck and offered him a drink of water.

  “Nothing good,” she said. “My father’s men are on their way.”

  He gulped the water and choked to find it was mixed with a liberal amount of throat searing raw whiskey. After the initial burn wore off, the drink started to ease the ache in his head.

  “Ah, that’s nice, thank ye, love.” He tried to take her hand but she scooted out of his grasp. “Wait, what do ye mean, about your father? Why are his men on their way?” He took another long swig and tried to puzzle out her expression.

  She stared stonily at the scout and Quinn, who was gesticulating wildly to the three men who’d been riding with them since they’d left Castle Glen the day before. Pietro knew they hadn’t left on the best of terms, but he hadn’t imagined Bella’s father would actually come after her.

  She refused to offer any explanation other than her grim expression and he placed his palms on the ground on either side of him and pushed upward until he got his legs underneath him. Once he was upright, the stabbing pain in his head returned in force, and he knew continuing to down the whiskey wasn’t going to help anymore, and would probably serve to knock him back on his ass. Bloody Lachlan Ferguson. The beating he’d taken for sleeping with the man’s wife must have shaken something loose.

  Bella grabbed his arm and wedged her small frame under his shoulder to help him stay standing after he swayed with the incessant wind that blew in from the north. With her help, he hobbled o
ver to hear what the men were saying.

  The scout had just finished giving some apparently startling news and Quinn let loose with a stream of cursing that made his men slink back as he stomped past them.

  “How close are they?” he finally asked the scout when he’d exhausted his supply of swear words.

  “Close. Perhaps five miles behind me, and riding hard.”

  Even in Pietro’s distressed state he had to admit to being impressed when Quinn began a fresh tirade of new and inventive curses. He’d never picture farm animals the same again.

  “This one is too sick to ride. We shall be overtaken if we try to outrun them,” he finally said, dragging his fingers through his wind tangled hair.

  “I’m better,” Pietro lied bravely, straightening up and trying not wince with the effort it caused him to keep standing.

  Bella sighed beneath his arm. Quinn glared at him and shook his head.

  “This is no time to be falsely brave, though I appreciate ye trying. These men have serious bad feelings toward us. There will be no discussion if they catch up to us, and I’m no’ in the mood to have to kill anyone today.” He looked up at the trees and laughed mirthlessly. “Or be killed for that matter.”

  He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment then nodded to his three men. “Ye must keep riding hell bent toward home and warn them. Dinna stop until everyone is armed and ready for whatever the Glens may have in mind when they reach our land.” He turned to the scout and clapped his hand on the worn out man’s shoulder. “Yer horse is in no condition to ride so fast and so far, so ye must be a decoy and continue on to the next village. Act as if ye’re still looking for us if they choose to follow ye. If they take ye, rest assured we shall come for ye when we may.”

  “Yes, milaird,” the young man said, valiantly getting back on his horse and riding east.

  The three men quickly said their goodbyes and got on their horses, setting off at a breakneck pace to the north with Bella’s maid in the center of them, looking back with tears in her eyes.

  Quinn watched them ride out and then turned to Pietro and Bella with a darkly determined look on his face. It was clear he didn’t like the situation he was in and was manfully trying not to direct his anger at either one of them, even though it was at least partly both their faults. Pietro for not being able to keep up with the pace due to his illness and Bella for being part of the Glens in the first place.

  “We must hide in the woods it seems,” Quinn said. “And hope they pass us by.”

  He took Bella’s place in helping Pietro to walk, and being able to lean on someone nearer his own height and strength made things quite a bit easier for him as he’d been trying not to collapse tiny Bella under his weight.

  Quinn motioned for her to take the horses and they made their way into the trees. Once they were deep enough in where they could no longer see the road, Quinn let go of Pietro and took off back in the direction they had come.

  Pietro swayed and grabbed the trunk of the nearest tree to keep from hitting the ground again. While they’d been walking, he’d thought moving around had helped a little so he took a few tentative steps to the next tree, only to be overcome with a fresh blast of pain.

  “Bugger,” he whispered and sank to the mossy, leaf strewn forest floor. Yes, standing was definitely overrated.

  Bella rushed to his side with more of her watered down whiskey and offered him a bit of dried meat as well. The strong salty smell made his stomach both growl and turn in distaste and he decided to force some down to keep up what little strength he had.

  “Is he going to cover our tracks?” he asked.

  The forest was quiet except for the hushed wind that ruffled the treetops and he kept his voice low, adding to the tense feel of their situation.

  Bella nodded, touching his forehead and the side of his neck. “Do ye feel verra badly?” she asked, shaking out her hand as if she could shake away his fever.

  “Not too bad,” he said and she rolled her eyes at his lie.

  “Why must ye do that?” she said, pushing his shoulder roughly, then looking immediately sorry for it.

  He shrugged. “Just trying to stay positive.”

  Quinn reappeared so silently they both jumped at his abrupt presence in front of them. Bella scooted further away from Pietro and gave him a defiant look.

  “It’s right ye should care for him, lass,” Quinn said. He made sure the horses were secured and sat down opposite them. “We need him to stay alive. I dinna judge ye.”

  Bella huffed and her pale face grew beet red. Pietro longed to pat her arm or take her hand but knew it would just add to her discomfort. She was legally married to Quinn’s brother, Lachlan. Who was currently somewhere else with Piper Sinclair, his employer from the twenty-first century, and as he’d just come to find out, insanely, his many times great-granddaughter.

  The reasons behind Lachlan and Bella’s unhappily wedded state were well beyond Pietro’s comprehension, but there it was, and in this day and age something like that was taken very seriously, whether or not it was in name only.

  “For all we know, my brother is in another time, or miles away,” Quinn said, his face softening for the first time since Pietro had woken up. “As far as I’m concerned—”

  “Thank ye, that’ll be enough,” Bella interrupted, her face now a deep shade of purple. “Must we hash about my sad state?”

  “No, we must no’,” Quinn said equitably. “But, I fear we must discuss why yer people have ridden after us. My scout thinks it’s no’ to give ye hearth warming gifts for yer new home.”

  Bella sighed deeply and her color slowly faded away. Pietro studied her face but for the life of him couldn’t read her. All he wanted was to take her in his arms and stroke her soft hair, but his limbs felt like they were made of water and Quinn was ever present.

  “I know ye were angry when we left Glen land,” Quinn prompted, raising his eyebrows expectantly.

  “Ye know of my father,” Bella said, a deep frown creasing her forehead.

  Pietro took in Quinn’s reaction to this. What did they know of her father? Was this something more than just hurt familial pride at them leaving so abruptly?

  From what he’d managed to glean from their harried ride away from the castle, a feast had been long prepared in Lachlan’s honor for something he’d done for the Glens. He’d gone from hero to disgrace when they’d all ridden in from town, bedraggled and wet and following gossip that Lachlan had been seen at the village inn with another woman. The other woman being Piper, his former employer back in his own time.

  It still amazed him that she had been secretly pining over an eighteenth century Highlander the entire time he knew her. She’d been half crazed when she found out Lachlan had married Bella, and if she hadn’t gotten herself together to help settle the situation, Lachlan probably would have killed him.

  “Is he mad at Lachlan for the so-called indiscretion?” Pietro asked.

  He knew full well that, though Bella and Lachlan were irritatingly legally wed, they had never consummated the union. His first hand knowledge as to why he was so certain of that made heat rise up his already fevered body. He was the only man who had ever been with Bella Glen, even if she was maddeningly married to another.

  Bella made a strangled noise. “So-called indiscretion, is what we’re calling it?” she asked in an outraged voice.

  Really, she was outraged at so many things, it was almost her normal speaking voice. Pietro rested his hand on the edge of her skirt in a placating manner, wishing he wasn’t so weak, wishing he could stand and pick her up and ride away from here. Far away from the troubles and intrigue, perhaps to a little cottage like the one they’d first …

  A hearty slap shook his befuddled head and brought him back to Quinn and Bella, who were once again peering into his face.

  “Ye just faded away,” Bella said in as close to an apologetic tone as he’d ever heard from her. She stroked his face where she’d just slapped him. “And yer ey
es rolled back in yer head.”

  “Were ye frightened for me, love?” he asked, alarmed at the froggy way his voice came out.

  Quinn laughed and sat back down while Bella proceeded to get further away from him, not even deigning to answer his jest.

  “I know verra well what yer father is capable of,” Quinn said, returning to their original discussion as if Pietro hadn’t fainted away in the middle of a sentence.

  Pietro made a concerted effort to stay where he was, focusing on the seriousness of Quinn’s face and tone. If things were really so bad, he’d probably need to get back on the horse or run. Damn this odd weakness and terrible headache. He’d had the flu before. Hell, he’d been in fights before, and never felt this bad from either thing.

  Quinn waved his hand. “Would ye like to fill him in on the illustrious history of our clans, or shall I?” he asked.

  Bella shrugged. “I’ve been in Edinburgh for the last year and more, I know not what ye heathens have been up to.”

  Quinn took a long drag from his canteen and settled back against a tree. “Ah, where to start? How many generations have our families been feuding?” he asked Bella.

  She snorted. “A fair few,” she said. “But ye’re not the only ones we scuffle with, so ye needn’t feel put upon as special.”

  “Aye, it does seem yer family has a grievance or two with some others besides us,” Quinn agreed, softening his words with a smile.

  She glanced away from him and edged slightly closer to Pietro as if Quinn’s gentle smile was more dangerous than harsh words or a raised hand. It saddened him that kindness seemed to confuse her, and it made him want to protect her more than ever. Someone had to be a presence in her life that she didn’t shy away from, that she could trust to be there for her always. As much as he wanted to clasp her hand or pull her close to him, he resisted.

  “What did it all start with?” Pietro asked.

  He knew of clan rivalries from history books and tales his grandparents told him. They generally had to do with boundary disputes or stolen livestock and just escalated throughout the years. The people of the Highlands could be a heated lot.