Highlander Fallen: A Scottish Time Travel Romance Read online

  Highlander Fallen

  A Scottish Time Travel Romance

  Rebecca Preston

  Illustrated by

  Natasha Snow

  Edited by

  Elizabeth A Lance

  Copyright © 2019 Rebecca Preston

  All rights reserved.

  Cover design by Natasha Snow

  Edited by Elizabeth A Lance

  Similarities to real people, places or events are purely coincidental.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Contents

  VIP Reader Club

  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

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  About Rebecca Preston

  Also by Rebecca Preston

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  Chapter 1

  Karin Alderson stepped through the doors of the Center for Disease Control in Atlanta, Georgia on a hot summer evening and let the icy walls of composure crack a little. Just a little, mind you – this was not a complete emotional collapse. Just a slight tremor to her lips and a dejected angle to her posture, which was usually upright and effortlessly correct. You'd have to know her very well to know that there was anything wrong. Or you'd have had to have been sitting in on the interview she'd just had with her boss.

  Karin had been expecting the interview to go well, if she was honest. She'd been working her ass off at the CDC for eight years now, ever since she'd uprooted her whole life in San Francisco to chase a job offer there. Sure, she missed her family and friends like crazy and spent her first six months so wracked with homesickness that she’d hardly left her apartment outside of work – but the career opportunity (even if it was a lowly internship at the time) was too good to miss out on. The CDC! Ever since she was a little girl, she'd wanted to help people. And where better to do that than in the public health service?

  (Somehow, she'd managed to avoid the jaded cynicism of her coworkers – at least, she had so far.)

  The internship, as promised, led to a full-time position — as a lab assistant, sure, but that was a stepping stone to better things, right? She'd been twenty-five, full of hope and promise, the best epidemiologist in all of Georgia as far as she was concerned. Now she was thirty-two. Her metabolism was slowing down, she was getting tiny wrinkles under her eyes (and not just because of the hot Georgia sun, though she privately apportioned that a good chunk of the blame), she had no social life to speak of and what was worse, she was still a lab assistant.

  Today was meant to have changed all that. Her annual performance review was up – she'd spent weeks psyching herself up, getting ready to march in and take what was hers. Advancement. A promotion – more independence, more responsibility, and hell, more money certainly wouldn't hurt. Surely, she deserved it by now. She'd paid her dues a dozen times over. She'd worked overtime, she'd stayed late and gotten in early, she'd lived and breathed this job for eight whole years. But the minute she'd mentioned it – confidently, just as she'd practiced in the bathroom mirror half a dozen times that week – she'd seen a knowing look pass between her bosses and felt an icy hand clutch at her stomach.

  “At the present time,” Hannah had said carefully, in the kind of voice that suggested that this one had been rehearsed a few times as well, “we don't see any cause at the moment. We'll have another look in six months —”

  “Sorry,” Karin had almost snapped, plastering a forced pleasant smile across her face. “No cause?”

  “Your work is good,” John had interjected with a little wave to Hannah, who pressed her lips together but remained silent. “You're reliable, you hardly take any sick days, you get on with everyone... but your work is just that. Good. Reliable. Not groundbreaking. You understand how competitive the field is...”

  He'd gone on, full of insulting little platitudes, and Karin had retreated behind her forced rictus of a smile, shell-shocked beyond belief. Just like that – her whole career, blown apart. Everything else in her life may as well have been going to shit, but she'd always thought – hoped – kidded herself, maybe – that her career was the one bright spot in an otherwise mediocre life. Was she going to be a lab assistant until she died? Was that it? What was she going to tell her mom and dad when she went back to the Bay for Thanksgiving? Her sister was off making a fortune in the private sector and her brother was a successful musician (despite the amount of ribbing he'd copped from his scientist sisters about pursuing the artistic path). Karin had never thought she was going to be the failure of the family. But here she was – a lab assistant at thirty-two. God, she'd been so thrilled with this job in her twenties.

  She took short, choppy steps across the parking lot toward where her old Toyota was parked in the shade of the parking lot's only tree – the benefits of getting in earlier than anyone else, she thought sourly to herself, was claiming the best parking spot. The only benefit, it looked like. With one angry step, the low heel of her shoe caught on an uneven patch of ground and her ankle twisted hard – quick reflexes were all that stopped her from hitting the dirt, but she still yelped and hopped a few ungainly paces before she could regain her balance. Tentatively putting weight on the ankle, she groaned in frustration at the sharp pang of pain that shot up it. Not broken or sprained, but definitely rolled. She'd have to skip Muay Thai that weekend.

  “Oh, well,” she muttered to herself, limping to her car with tears of pain and frustration standing in her eyes. “I guess I don't need anything to look forward to. I'll just stay in my apartment and knit or something.”

  Karin dropped into the seat of her car, wrinkling her nose as she was enveloped in the sticky heat of a car that had been baking under the Georgia sun all afternoon. The first few months here she'd been plagued with constant headaches as a result of that muggy humidity – it didn't even go away in winter. Adjusting had been hard work, but she still felt the troubling pang of a headache beginning to build behind her eyes as she tried to take a deep, steadying breath. Go to your calm place, Karin, she coached herself. But her calm place was full of anxiety today.

  She fumbled in her bag, remembering with a start that her phone had been on silent since lunchtime – the last time she'd checked it. At least that truly terrible performance review had banished The Other Thing from her mind for a few hours. It came creeping back in now, settling in the pit of her stomach with a sickly weight.

  “Serves you right, you moron,” she told herself under her breath, narrowing her eyes at the sliver of her face she could see in the rear-vision mirror. Irritated by the sight of her tired green eyes and the lank blonde hair that fell dismally across her face no matter how many volumizing products she tried, she turned the mirror to face the passenger
seat and took another deep, shaky breath.

  It wasn't like her to get like this. She was usually a very phlegmatic person – prided herself on it, actually. Calm. Capable. Extremely good in a crisis – well, that came with the job, didn't it? She wasn't without her struggles with anxiety, but she had a sharp hold on it. Muay Thai helped immeasurably. Twice a week for drills and bag work, once a week for a sparring session – her Friday night treat. Not that she'd be able to do that this weekend – not with a rolled ankle. And a strenuous contact sport was probably not very advisable, in her condition.

  Her phone finally came to life in her hand, waking up from the sleep mode she'd put it in. She rolled her eyes at the influx of emails that caused it to buzz over and over – it had probably been a mistake to have her work email redirected to her phone, but people appreciated being able to reach her at all hours, and it had become a strange point of pride to always respond within an hour, no matter the time or subject of the email. Hadn't helped though, had it? Good old reliable Karin, she thought savagely, swiping the emails away with an abrupt stroke of her fingertip. It felt good to banish them. She'd almost certainly cave once she got home and send off a dozen responses while she waited for her microwave dinner to cook, but for now she reveled in her little act of defiance.

  Oh, yes. There it was. A response from Michael. Unusual, actually, to hear back within twenty-four hours – she'd sent a strongly-worded text before work that morning before banishing the whole subject from her mind, but she hadn't been expecting a response so soon. She hesitated before opening it, knowing that he'd see that she'd done so and be expecting her reply...

  Karin (7:46 a.m.): Hey. Call me when you can, please. Something to tell you.

  Michael (4:46 p.m.): Come over 2nite.

  Michael (4:46 p.m.): after 10.

  Michael (4:46 p.m.): Bring wine if u want some.

  Wasn't it revolting, the way she almost wanted to smile? A thoroughly unappealing invitation, and yet it was somehow tempting. She'd met Michael at a bar in town on her 30th birthday – he worked on the other side of Atlanta as a part-time entrepreneur, part-time assistant manager of a shoe store. The economy, he'd said to her wisely, every time the subject of his business acumen came up. The economy was very bad. She wasn't sure investing in every cryptocurrency that came along was a great business idea even in a very good economy, but he had a tendency to get upset whenever she indicated that she knew things he didn't, so she kept it to herself.

  God, it was uncomfortable to think about Michael. Everything about him was, on paper, repellent – he was rude, uncommunicative, didn't appreciate her or value her... every single advice column, relationship podcast, or conversation with her work friends emphasized that. And yet, she continued to see him – had been doing so for nearly two years now, ever since that fateful night in a dive bar where he'd almost thrown up on her shoes. What was it? Momentum, probably. Inertia. A body at rest tended to remain at rest unless acted on by another force... could she ever muster up enough force to drag him from his rest?

  God, what was she going to do?

  Karin (5:48 p.m.): I can come over if you'd prefer to talk in person, but I'd like to talk on the phone. Now, if you're not busy.

  Michael (5:49 p.m.): Not interested in talking if u know what I mean.

  Michael (5:49 p.m.): ;)

  Michael (5:49 p.m.): Bow chicka wow-wow.

  She rolled her eyes, gritted her teeth – hit the green glowing phone icon next to his name. The phone rang. And rang. And rang out.

  Karin (5:50 p.m.): Are you there? It's important.

  Michael (5:50 p.m.): Can’t talk.

  Michael (5:50 p.m.): P busy.

  Michael (5:50 p.m.): Come after 10.

  Karin (5:51 p.m.): I'm pregnant.

  She hit 'send' on the last message before she lost the nerve, then felt her breath whoosh out of her in a rush. It was a relief, as nerve-wracking as it was, to have it all out there in black and white. She felt her heartbeat pick up, let herself remember the full significance of that morning's discovery – she'd been late and feeling a little run-down and strange in a way she couldn't put her finger on. She had a stash of pregnancy tests in her cupboard – her period was often late, and it was a lot easier to just put her mind at rest straight away rather than stressing unnecessarily for days on end. A quick two minutes was all it would take to reassure herself that she was as unfertilized as she'd ever been, and then she could get on with her day.

  But not that morning, unfortunately. There it was, in black and white – a little plus sign where there'd only ever been a minus sign before. She'd actually blinked a few times as though the second line was just a trick of her vision. Then she'd taken a second test. And a third. The chances of a false positive were extremely low.

  Her phone buzzed, several minutes later.

  Michael (5:56 p.m.): Are u gonna keep it?

  Karin (5:56 p.m.): Can we talk properly?

  Michael (5:56 p.m.): It’s a pretty simple question are you going to keep it or not. If u aren’t there’s nothing to talk about.

  Karin (5:56 p.m.): I disagree. How did this happen? You always check the condom, right?

  Michael (5:56 p.m.): So it’s definitely mine?

  Karin (5:57 p.m.): Yes.

  Michael (5:57 p.m.): Ur sure?

  She punched the steering wheel, hard. The horn sounded briefly, startling a couple of pigeons that had been pecking at the dust beside the Toyota.

  Karin (5:57 p.m.): Do you remember a condom breaking?

  There was a long pause before the reply came. Karin focused very hard on her breathing.

  Michael (6:01 p.m.): Not exactly.

  Karin (6:01 p.m.): What does that mean, not exactly?

  Michael (6:01 p.m.): Ok cards on the table.

  Michael (6:01 p.m.): I'll be honest if u promise not to be mad.

  Karin (6:01 p.m.): Yes?

  Michael (6:01 p.m.): I stealthed once or twice.

  Karin (6:01 p.m.): What?

  Michael (6:02 p.m.): I stealthed. Like in porn u know?

  Michael (6:02 p.m.): U put the condom on then slip it off without the girl seeing.

  Michael (6:02 p.m.): It’s like a challenge.

  Michael (6:02 p.m.): Like slight of hand.

  Karin (6:02 p.m.): Sleight.

  Karin (6:02 p.m.): It's sleight of hand, you moron.

  Karin (6:02 p.m.): You scum of the fucking earth.

  Michael (6:02 p.m.): Woah there’s no need to be rude.

  Karin (6:02 p.m.): I'm blocking your number. You're a waste of resources. It would literally be better for the world if you'd never existed. I'm embarrassed that I was ever seen in public with you.

  Michael (6:03 p.m.): Bitch.

  Michael (6:03 p.m.): Have fun being a deadbeat single mom.

  Chapter 2

  Shaking with rage, Karin could hardly navigate the menus of her phone long enough to delete Michael's number and block him from ever contacting her again. After that, for good measure, she went onto her social media accounts – Twitter, Facebook, even Pinterest and Tumblr – and searched for his name. She deleted every post she could find that mentioned him, every photo of them together, even a few selfies she had taken at his house. She hesitated over a photo of his Labrador, Benson – that dear old boy had never done a thing wrong in his life, despite the execrable nature of his owner – but in the end deleted that as well, hardening her heart. There would be other Labradors.

  The memory of allowing him to touch her just kept seething in her mind, making her grind her teeth with anger and disgust. She'd let him touch her! Kiss her! She'd even – in her private thoughts, never out loud to him – wondered about whether she loved him, whether he was the kind of person she could spend her life with. He wasn't exactly a catch, after all, but weren't people always saying that relationships were about compromise? Could she really do any better than him? Did she want to die alone?

  The discovery of the pregnancy – even though she'd almost immed
iately shoved it into the “too hard, think about it after work” basket – had sent a momentary thrill through her. Despite her laser focus on her career and her ambivalent feelings about the guy who was technically, sort of, her boyfriend, a tiny part of her had actually been thrilled by the news. She'd always wanted children – not in a desperate, all-consuming way, but she'd certainly looked more than once into prams at the mall, responded to her coworkers' birth announcements with mixed joy and envy, lingered by the baby clothes in Walmart. One day, definitely. And – well, she was in her thirties now. One day was coming up soon. Michael wasn't exactly the husband and father she'd always dreamed of, but... well, fatherhood changed a man, didn't it? Maybe this could work, she'd thought, in those few shell-shocked minutes in her bathroom. Maybe this could be the first chapter in a beautiful story. A little miracle that came into both of their lives... the story they'd be telling together, years from now, to their children, their grandchildren, on the porch of a beautiful old Georgia house...

  She punched the steering wheel again now, furious with herself for believing any of that dreck– even in the privacy of her own mind. You're soft, Karin. That's your problem. Soft and weak and docile, like a little mouse. You do martial arts to kid yourself you've got any kind of backbone at all when you're thirty-two, living in a city with no friends or family, single and six weeks pregnant with the child of a man that any self-respecting woman wouldn't even deign to spit on in the street.