Latharn's Destiny: Highlander Fate Book Six Read online

  Latharn's Destiny

  Highlander Fate Book Six

  Stella Knight

  Copyright © 2019 by Stella Knight

  All rights reserved.

  This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the express written permission of the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously.

  Created with Vellum

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  Pronunciation Guide

  Latharn - LA-urn

  Eibhlin - EHV-leen

  Floraidh - FLOR-ie

  Aoife - EE-fyə

  Tulach - TUL-uk

  Padraig - PAW-drig

  Neacal - NIY-kl

  Gormal - GAU-rum-ul

  Baigh - BIE

  Crisdean - KREESH-jun

  Ros - ROEZ

  Aimil - AY-mil

  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

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Epilogue

  Afterword

  Stay in touch!

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  Present Day

  Tairseach, Scottish Highlands

  A light breeze tugged at Evelyn’s cloak as she approached the ancient village of Tairseach. She expelled a deep breath as she took in its ruins; overgrown grass, a decrepit castle in the distance, the crumbling remains of old thatch-roofed homes.

  To any other person, Tairseach would just look like an old crumbling village, a casualty of the long march of time. But Evelyn knew better. Tairseach wasn't just an ordinary old village. It was a portal through time.

  She could recall with stark clarity the first time she’d come here years ago with her mother, when she was still a teenager. Then, she'd still been reeling in disbelief—and anger—at the crazy tale her mother had told her. Yet as soon as they'd arrived at Tairseach, she sensed something different about the place . . . something she couldn't explain.

  And when she'd taken her first trip back through time, her suspicions had been confirmed.

  Evelyn drew closer to the ancient village, hiking up the skirts of her fourteenth-century gown as she moved. She’d hidden her gown beneath a large cloak, grateful that it was late winter and didn’t look too suspicious. She stopped, adjusting the coif she’d placed over her long red hair before continuing on. The first time she'd worn a medieval gown and coif she'd felt ridiculous. But now the clothing felt as natural as a pair of jeans and a comfy T-shirt.

  It should make sense that she felt so comfortable in clothing from the past . . . because she herself was born in the past. She’d been born in the fourteenth century with the Gaelic name Eibhlin Aingealag O’Brolchan. Her mother was a time traveler born in the twenty-first century, and her father a fourteenth-century Highland noble.

  Her mother had dropped this major bombshell on her when she was sixteen. Even today, a decade later, she could recall every detail of that moment: the fire crackling in the fireplace, the mug of hot tea in her mother’s shaking hands, the deep crimson sweater her mother wore, the pitter-patter of rain on the living-room windows, her mother’s low but desperate voice and the strain on her fine, elegant features.

  "Your father is long dead, Evie," her mother had whispered. "Because he was born in the past, when I met him. In the year 1360."

  Evelyn had reacted with disbelief and rage, not speaking to her mother for weeks afterward. But her mother was telling the truth; she’d traveled to the past by accident after getting lost during a solo hiking trip to the Highlands and stumbling across Tairseach. She had met, married and fallen in love with her soulmate in the past, only to return to the present after his tragic death with their infant in her arms, modernizing Eibhlin’s name to Evelyn Angelica O’Brolchan.

  It was only after her mother took her to Tairseach and they traveled to the past together that Evelyn had fully accepted her story. Guilt constricted her chest at the memory of her initial anger, but her mother had forgiven her.

  "I wouldn't have believed me, either," her mother insisted.

  It was with her mother’s blessing that she'd traveled to the past on her own—but only when she reached adulthood. She'd taken her second trip to the past while she was in college and stayed for nearly a month before returning to her relieved mother.

  This was her third trip to the past. Her mother, her only true anchor to the present, had died in a car accident several years ago. It was her loss that spurred Evelyn to return to the past, to carry out something she’d ached to do once she’d learned the circumstances of her father’s death.

  Determination quickened her pace as she entered Tairseach. She’d left her rental car about a mile behind and walked the rest of the way here. The last time she’d come here, she'd taken a cab from the nearest town, but the probing questions as to why she’d want to be dropped off here had become increasingly difficult to answer. People who couldn’t travel through time couldn’t see Tairseach; it just looked as if she were requesting a drop-off in a remote glen in the middle of the Highlands. She’d even feared the last cab driver would refuse to leave her, warning her that it got dangerously cold out here at night, and she might not be able to find her way back. Evelyn had to practically beg him to leave her here.

  She straightened as she scanned the village, soon spotting what she was looking for. A small vortex of wind at the base of a crumbling cottage, disturbing the grass that surrounded it. The wind, she'd noticed, appeared in a different spot each time she'd traveled. It seemed to be the source of the power—the magic—that hurtled travelers through time.

  Swallowing hard, she moved toward the vortex of wind. She closed her eyes, conjuring up every detail she could recall about the ruins of MacUisdean Castle and what it must have looked like during its heyday: its gleaming stone walls, the courtyard bustling with activity, horse-drawn carts making their way in and out of its massive front gates.

  But most of all, she thought of her true purpose in returning to the past—avenging her late father. Her determination swelled, and she continued to step forward, until a familiar swirling blackness claimed her, and the world around her disappeared.

  * * *

  1391

  Scottish Highlands

  When the world righted itself around Evelyn, she took a deep breath, clutching her roiling belly. She thought that she'd gotten used to the aftermath of time travel, which was akin to leaping off a high-speed rollercoaster at its apex. But she still felt just as nauseous and shaken as the first time she'd traveled back in time with her mother, who had held her hai
r back as she vomited.

  Once her stomach calmed, Evelyn looked up, relief spiraling through her. This was it. She'd made several scouting trips to this area in her own time, determined to get to the right place.

  In the present day, this area was just a sprawling glen full of overgrown grass, with the tattered ruins of MacUisdean Castle in the distance.

  Now, a dirt road snaked through the glen, and the castle that loomed in the distance was no ruin. It stood tall and formidable, made of gray stone and turreted towers, looking every inch a living, breathing medieval castle.

  This was the place where her parents had met and married. Where they had come for many feasts and gatherings as part of Clan MacUisdean. During her previous trips to the past, she’d not allowed herself to come here, knowing it would pain her to see the place where her father had died.

  Ignoring the stab of grief and anger that pierced her at the thought of her father’s murder, Evelyn adjusted her gown and straightened, mentally reviewing her plan before continuing forward.

  Her heart picked up its pace as she drew closer to the castle and the hubbub that lay past its gates—horse-driven carts entering and leaving the courtyard, servants hauling sacks of grain inside, stable boys leading horses to the stables.

  During her previous trips to the past, she’d avoided interacting with people though she’d learned the way of speaking during this time with language tutors over the years, and her modern accent was now barely detectable. She hoped that it was enough to pass muster, as she intended to not only interact—but live—among the people of this time as a castle servant.

  Evelyn approached the open castle gates, trailing a horse-drawn cart and a handful of servants carrying sacks of what she assumed were grain or flour. She spotted two guards by the gate and tensed, hoping that she looked the part of a young female servant in her simple, brown wool gown and white-linen coif. She’d even taken care to tear a few holes in the gown to make it look worn and authentic.

  Fortunately, there was enough incoming traffic to the courtyard that she was able to trail the other servants past the gates without much notice. She looked around, spotting more sacks of grain that rested near one of the castle entrances. She needed to blend in as soon as possible if her plan was going to work.

  Picking up her pace, she moved over to one of the sacks and hefted it up, carrying it toward one of the castle’s entrances. Once she got inside, she'd have to improvise to find the kitchens or the cellars to drop it off.

  “Where are ye going, lass?”

  Evelyn froze, turning to face a lanky, red-haired man who approached her with a frown.

  “I’m taken this grain tae the kitchens,” she said, lowering her head.

  “Well, ye're heading tae the cellars," the man said with a scowl. "The kitchens are through that entrance,” he continued, turning to point to another entryway.

  “My apologies," she said, keeping her gaze trained on the ground.

  The man just grunted and moved past her to head inside. Relieved that she’d survived her first—albeit brief—encounter, she turned and made her way to the entrance the man had directed her to.

  Two young female servants entered ahead of her, and she followed them, hoping they were making their way to the kitchens.

  “Deoridh ran off with the steward’s son; they’re probably long gone tae the Low Countries by now,” one of the servants, a petite, fair-haired woman, was saying to her companion in a low voice. “Can ye believe it?"

  “I donnae ken what he sees in Deoridh; she’s a cow,” the other servant returned with a snort.

  “A cow who spreads her legs,” the fair-haired servant said, with a low chuckle. “The steward’s son is not the first she’s lain with in the castle.”

  The women tittered as Evelyn’s heart raced. This was perfect. If she could take this Deoridh’s place, it would be easier to obtain a post as a servant here.

  She followed the two gossiping servants into the sprawling kitchens, filled with even more servants who bustled to and fro—tending to the oven fires, chopping vegetables, sorting and storing grain, scrubbing the wood counters and stone floors.

  “Over here!” a stout, balding man shouted from the corner, gesturing for her to approach with the grain. He raised an eyebrow, taking the sack from her.

  “Bringing in grain is usually Tulach's duty,” he said, eyeing her with curiosity. “Have I seen ye before?”

  “Deoridh arranged for me tae take her place,” Evelyn said, thinking quickly.

  But the man was already ignoring her, turning his focus to the sack and its contents.

  “Ye said ye’re replacing Deoridh?”

  Evelyn whirled. A woman who looked to be in her fifties with graying dark hair and severe dark eyes stood behind her, eyeing her with a scowl.

  “Aye,” Evelyn said. "She said I could take her—”

  “I donnae care for the details,” the woman said, with a dismissive wave of her hand. “I’m Floraidh, the head maid in the kitchens. Ye can take her bed in the servants’ quarters. Pay is handed out every day after sundown—ye can see the steward about that, just tell him ye’re taking Deoridh’s place. Now get tae it, lass; the undercook needs help kneading the barley dough for the bread.”

  Floraidh moved along to bark orders to another kitchen maid. Relief bloomed within her; that had gone smoother than she could have hoped for.

  She moved toward the undercook, a harried-looking woman who gestured toward a thick mound of dough on the counter. Evelyn got to work, barely having time to come to terms with the fact that she was in the kitchens of a medieval castle, as she was given an assortment of tasks—from helping a young maid scrub down the counters with lye soap, assisting the undercooks with chopping vegetables and sorting grains into boiling pots, to manually turning a roasting chicken on a spit over the oven fire.

  By the time her workday had ended, exhaustion had seeped into her bones. She trailed the other female servants to their quarters, which was a cellar lit dimly with candlelight and filled with straw mattresses.

  As she settled on the bed that Floraidh directed her to, the enormity of the task that lay before her settled in, and she felt the stirrings of doubt. She took a deep breath, repeating to herself the words she'd told herself in the days—the weeks, the months—before she'd traveled to this time.

  I'm going to kill the man who murdered my father.

  This hadn't always been her plan. When she’d first learned of the circumstances of her birth father’s death and the reality of time travel, she’d fantasized about changing the past, of going back in time to warn him and her mother.

  “I wanted to do that, Evelyn. Desperately,” her mother had told her, her hazel eyes filled with anguish. “But the stiuireadh told me that some things can’t be changed: your father’s death was one of them. It was something that—in their words—time meant to happen. They warned me that if I tried to change what happened to him, there could be negative consequences for you and all types of dangerous ripple effects. And the only person I love more than your father is you. I couldn’t risk it. As much as it has broken my heart, I’ve accepted that what happened was always meant to happen.”

  Evelyn closed her eyes at the memory, tears stinging her eyes. She had still stubbornly gone to see a stiuireadh, one of the druid witches who helped guide travelers through time, only to be told the same thing.

  She'd decided that even if she couldn’t change her father’s death, she could avenge him. Her life in the present had been devoted to returning to the time in which she’d been born. She’d studied medieval history in college, taken horseback and archery lessons, even fencing lessons and fight training in case she ever needed to wield a sword.

  Friendships and relationships had taken a backseat to her intentions; even her mother had urged her to live her life in the present. But a burning desire to return to this time had driven Evelyn, to make things right—by avenging her father and her grief-stricken mother.

  Her
hand drifted to the pocket she had sown into her underdress, relieved to find the pouch of dried hemlock she'd sealed there. She set aside her doubt and repeated her vow to herself.

  I will avenge my parents. Laird Steaphan MacUisdean will pay for what he's done.

  Chapter 2

  As Latharn’s horse pulled up to the small, thatch-roofed cottage on the edge of MacUisdean lands, he found three people lined up outside waiting for him. His grip tightened on the reins and a sudden swell of anxiety arose in his gut.

  As a former servant, it was odd to have people waiting for him. But this was what his life would be like once he claimed his title as laird of MacUisdean Castle—and chieftain of Clan MacUisdean.

  He'd recently learned that the parents who'd raised him weren't his true parents; they had once been servants of his birth parents, the laird and chieftain Seoras MacUisdean and Lady Beitris MacUisdean. His paternal uncle Steaphan had killed and betrayed his father, and his mother died while under imprisonment years later. His adopted mother had told him all this on her deathbed, telling him that his two cousins Padraig and Neacal were in conflict over who would take over leadership of the clan—which was his birthright.

  He dismounted as one of the men, tall and broad shouldered, approached to take his horse, giving him a respectful nod. Another man, with gray-streaked auburn hair and warm brown eyes, stepped forward to greet him.