Page 1 of Dear Kilted Scotsman
1
BRIANNA
I first read the series when I was sixteen years old—Letters from a Highlander. It’s a story of a young woman who travels back in time from present-day Scotland to the eighteenth century with the magic of a bundle of letters she finds in a deserted castle. It was my first taste of learning all about the Jacobite Rebellion along with the lore and traditions of Scotland. I fell in love with the idea of finding my own highlander one day, and I begged my parents to take me, but they always said no. There was no money for us to travel halfway around the world to visit the Scotland Highlands. The farthest we ever went on vacation was a weekend trip to Dollywood. When I was old enough, I told myself that I would save my money and take that trip of a lifetime.
It only took ten years of working multiple odd jobs and saving every penny earned so that it could get me here today.
I lean back on my hands and tilt my face up at the sky. It's slightly overcast, but the sun is peeking through the clouds whenever it can. I'm sitting on a blanket next to Loch Greer, listening to the gentle sounds of the water lapping against the pebble beach. My worn copy of Letters from a Highlander next to me. I’ve just finished rereading it for the umpteenth time. The epic love between Katherine and Graeme still pulls me in like it did the first time I read it. It's hard to imagine finding the great love of your life, and he lives in a different time. The hurdles they had to face, they faced together.
I look down at the tattered book that I’ve held so close to my heart for so long. The letter I wrote to the mysterious Scotsman when I was eighteen, declaring my love to a man I hadn't met and yet I knew one day I would meet here, as Katherine did in the story, peeking out from between the pages. I pull it out but don't open the sealed envelope. It's probably silly that I wrote it, and even sillier that I've held onto it for this long, but I’m not ready to let that hope that one day my words would find the one I’m meant to be with.
I stuff the letter back in between the pages, and I lay back on the blue and green tartan blanket. I should head back to the camper van I’ve been using to travel around in, but it’s a few miles away down the road. Plus, I just want another moment here. The sound of the wind mixed with the lapping water of the loch lulls me, and I feel the muscles in my body relax.
The next thing I know, there is a loud boom above my head, and my eyes shoot open. Instead of the overcast sky that was there when I closed my eyes, it's dark. I blink my eyes a few times, looking around, but I can't see my hand in front of my face. For a moment, in my startled sleep haze, I think that I've gone blind. But a flash of lightning cracks across the sky, and the loch is lit up.
I scream and jump to my feet, scrambling for my phone in my pocket. The flashlight on it does little to light more than a couple of feet in front of me. I gather my blanket and book and stumble my way back in what I think is the direction of my camper van.
The storm is getting closer, and I quickly realize that this situation I’m finding myself in is going from bad to worse. I swing the phone around, trying to look for anything familiar that will guide me in the right direction. I look for any lights shining from the castle that I saw just beyond the trees as I hiked to the loch earlier today. But I don’t see anything.
More thunder rumbles, startling me, and I try to push forward, but I could be moving in the wrong direction. Lightning lights up the sky again, and I have only a moment to look around and try to figure out where I need to go. But a dark kilted figure, dressed like he’s in clothing from the eighteenth century, steps out of the tree line, and for a moment, our gazes lock before darkness blankets us again—fear tears through me when I suddenly can’t see the stranger. And I’m suddenly reminded of the opening scene inLetters from a Highlanderwhen Katherine is first transported back in time and comes across a Graeme in the forest.
My eyes have to be playing tricks on me. I’m still in a haze from being woken up abruptly, my active imagination is finally working against me, and I'm alone in a foreign country in the pitch black of night—pick any one of those reasons to explain what I think I saw.
“Who’s out there?” The deep voice with a heavily Scots accent calls out.
I freeze and try to turn off the light from my phone. My only recourse is to pretend that I’m not here and hope that the figment of my imagination will go away. He can’t see me. I can’t see him. But the snap of a twig about twenty feet away from me tells me exactly where he is.
“I saw you,” the voice yells again, but there is a note of uncertainty in his tone.
I hold my breath, not wanting a single sound to come out of me to let him know where I am. He moves closer, but he might pass me without realizing it. Suddenly there is another flash of lightning in the sky, illuminating the kilted stranger and me. My fight or flight instincts kick in, and I turn and start running.
"Hey!" he calls, but I don't stop.
I can hear him close behind me. My years of watching my older brother excel at Track and Field does nothing to help me at this moment. My foot catches on something, and I face plant onto the ground. My blanket, phone, and book fly out of my hands.
It's too dark, and the stranger behind me doesn't see me on the ground and trips on my prone body, landing on me with a grunt before rolling off. The force of his body landing on me knocks the wind out of me, and suddenly I can't breathe. I gasp, trying to draw in a breath, but the spasming in my chest makes it feel like it’s impossible.
“Are you alright?” I feel him sit up next to me. “Breathe, lass.”
All I can do is focus on my breathing until I’m able to calm down. The wind from the storm starts to pick up. I fumble around on the ground for my phone and turn on the light. The kilted Scotsman sitting next to me has an expression of concern on his face, watching me with intense, dark eyes. I move the light down and see that he is dressed in a loose collared shirt, a kilt, and some boots. I haven’t been in Scotland too long, but this doesn’t look like the clothes any of the men I’ve come across. He looks like a historical figure that has stepped out of the past.
“Did I go back in time?” I ask.
His eyes narrow on me as if I've just grown a second head, but he doesn't answer me. He pushes to his feet and holds out his hand to me.
“I think you hit your head when you fell,” he says, his heavy accent smoothing out and becoming clearer for me to understand.
I feel my head, expecting to find blood or a bump to explain why I thought for a moment that I traveled back in time to the eighteenth century. The light from my phone catches the worn book lying on the ground next to me.Oh right.
I reach out and take his hand, allowing him to pull me to my feet.
“I need to get back to my camper van,” I tell him.
He looks around, but everything is still too dark, and the storm is nearly on top of us.
“We need to get back to the castle. You can stay there for the night, and I can take you back in the morning.”
He leans down and picks up my stuff before handing it back to me. He holds out his hand again, but this time I won't hesitate to take it. His warm hand encircles mine, and it feels familiar in a way I don't understand. But I don't have time to think about it further. He leads me back into the trees, towards the castle.
