Chapter Six
Abby stood beside doors that led out onto a courtyard. A thick stone wall ran the length of the grounds, and from where she stood it looked as if the sea itself flowed right up to it. An illusion of course, for the castle sat a fair distance away from the sea.
She slumped against the building, the cold stone at her back chilling her as much as the arctic wind that whistled through the yard.
This era was hard. Everything about it was coarse, dirty, and too different to comprehend. She shivered into a cloak her chamber servant had given her and watched a couple of kitchen servants weed a vegetable garden, their hands muddy, their clothing less than ideal for these weather conditions. Ski gear would be ideal…
Abby frowned. Above all else, the stench was the worst. Not everyone here was able to bathe, and the body odor coming off some of the populace was enough to make her gag. The animals, unfortunately, were penned close to the castle, and pigs, even if kept well, stank to high heaven. It was only at times like these, when the wind from the ocean hit her before anything else, that Abby could breathe the salty, un-stinking air. What she wouldn’t do to be back in the twenty-first century, warm in her modest apartment that smelled of clean linen, soap, and perfume. She didn’t have a lot and was far from wealthy, but at least she had heat, hot water, and coffee.
She swallowed, refusing to cry anymore. She needed to be strong. Gwen had promised she’d return her home as soon as she could. She would have to believe in that. Trust the woman and her brother, who seemed only too eager to be rid of her.
“Abigail? May I speak with ye?”
She didn’t bother to face Gwen as the woman came to stand beside her, instead she fought to control her emotions. She supposed the laird’s sister would speak to her whether she wanted her to or not. “What do you want?”
“I’m going to be helping some of the village ladies prepare the needlework they’ll sell throughout the games. Would ye care to help me?”
“What games?” she asked, having not heard of them.
“Castle Druiminn will host the Highland Games this year. My brother will compete and should the stars align, choose a wife.”
Abby fought not to roll her eyes. From the small tidbits of history she’d read about the Highland Games, the strongest man won the fairest lady. “I don’t understand your thought process, Gwen. You brought me here to marry your brother, so why go through all the trouble of hosting these games? Seems like a waste of time to me.”
A slight blush rose on Gwen’s face, and Abby narrowed her eyes. “I’m not sure how I’m able to do it, but I have the sight. I can see into the future. I’ve been watching you for some months and believed your strong nature, independence, and moral character would make a most promising match with my brother. I had hoped when you arrived that you would be happy, and willing to participate in the games and prove yourself to my elder sibling.”
Abby’s mouth popped open. Prove myself? The girl wasn’t for the feminist movement, obviously. “As much as I love history and this castle, and the landscape is amazing, I don’t want to live here. I don’t belong here. And I certainly don’t want to marry your brother. To parade around in an attempt to earn his favor is demoralizing. I want to go home. I don’t know why you can’t send me back already.”
“I’m sorry. I thought you’d be happy about the gift I’d given you. The opportunity to live in a time not of your own, and possibly find love.” Gwen led them toward the kitchen, a lone building that sat on the opposite side from the main part of the castle. The area was littered with piles of hay, and some small animals ran about freely. The smell again reminded of her why she wanted to go home. Burnt rubbish, musty and tinged with the hint of rotting flesh, permeated the air. Spying some type of dead animal hanging upside down on a nearby building, she swallowed and continued following Gwen as she led them toward a group of women who sat under a large, leafy tree, their laughter carrying across the slight breeze.
“I may be dressed like a woman of influence, but I’m not fooling anyone. I stick out like a sore thumb. I would suggest you save your necks, and as soon as you can, send me home.”
Gwen sighed and motioned for her to sit. The ladies welcomed her with smiles, but their eyes gave away their interest as to who she was. “This is Abigail Cross, a friend from the Continent who’s come to stay for a time.”
“Hello,” she said, sitting down. Abby took in the colorful plaid that was already woven, but was being sewn together. Reds and blues were the most prevalent, with a touch of black. “Whose plaid will this be?”
A young girl, no more than twelve, smiled up at her. “It’s going to be the laird’s new plaid. We’re also making a pleat for his future wife, whoever she may be.”
“Oh.” Abby met Gwen’s eye and looked away. “It’s charming. Do you want me to help sew?” She offered her help, although she hoped they’d decline. She’d only ever sewn the odd button that had come off a shirt or pair of pants, never an outfit that was going to be presented to a laird.
“Aye, the laird will be marryin’, and soon we hope. He’s a fine lad—man, I should say. He deserves happiness.”
Picking up the plaid, Abby felt the woolen cloth. It was coarse beneath her fingers and no doubt would be itchy against the skin. “I believe there are other clans arriving in only a few short days. Maybe his future bride is among them.”
Abby heard Gwen’s name and turned to see the mighty laird himself, calling out to his sister. She watched him for a moment. He was a large man, not in weight, but in stature. The kilt hardly hid the great, flexing muscles of his legs, the plaid over his shoulder only accentuating his disgustingly muscled arms. His chin and chiselled jaw sported an unshaved shadow. She’d never tended to think of redheads as her type, but Aedan MacLeod wasn’t a man to pass over.
Here was a man who oozed strength—a Highland laird with an army and a multitude of servants all willing to do his bidding. The women seemed to like him a lot, too, so she could only assume he was kind.
He caught her gaze and stared at her with unnerving indifference. Still displeased that she was here, he tolerated her presence with polite apathy. Well, she had not asked to be his unwelcome guest. She tore her gaze back to the women still hard at work. “Aedan MacLeod is a good laird, then? You all seem to regard him highly.” Gwen continued to talk to her brother, and Abby thought to take the opportunity to learn more about the family.
“Oh aye, we do, Abigail, lass. Ever since he inherited the lands from his father, he’s ensured his people are cared for, his two sisters the most. Times are hard, but knowing our laird has our well-being in his thoughts makes things a little easier. Hosting the Highland Games this year will enable us to sell some of our chattels we’ve made and look after our families for the coming winter.”
Abby started at the mention of another sister. “I haven’t had the honor of meeting the laird’s other sister. Does she reside here, too? Or is she married and living away?”
They cast furtive glances at each other and Abby’s interest piqued.
The oldest woman met her gaze, a tinge of sadness in her eyes. “No, not anymore, poor lass. After being returned from the O’Cain clan after marrying one of the laird’s sons, she’s entered a life of solitude with the church.”
“Well, I’m sorry I haven’t met her.” How odd. Abby knew they were holding something back from her, but what, she couldn’t imagine. “Maybe she will return before I depart.”
“A great wrong has been done to her, and she’ll not be back. There are rumors the laird will declare war on the O’Cain clan after the games. And rightfully so,” the older woman stated, her jowls wobbling in temper.
“What did the other clan do?” Abby thought back to what she’d read on the MacLeod family before being drawn back to their time. She couldn’t recall what the older woman was talking about.
“She was handfasted, as I said, to one of O’Cain’s sons, and for a year and a day she lived at their home. I do not know of what horrors she endured there, but I imagine there were many. The laird’s sister returned blind in one eye, and to cause offense, they sent her home seated on a partially blind horse, led by a partially blind servant, and followed by a partially blind dog.”
The other ladies mumbled their displeasure, and Abby stopped sewing, wondering how people could be so cruel. “And you believe your laird will declare war over this?”
“Aye, he will. The rumors will prove true, I’ve no doubt. There isn’t any love between the two clans, hasn’t been for more than a hundred years. This marriage was our laird’s last attempt for peace, and Jinny was thrown back in his face like a worthless pebble.”
What husbands, brothers, sons would go off to battle and never return home? When it came to such actions, were there ever any winners? With her boyfriend David, she’d certainly been the loser when he’d died. A life cut short for no substantial reason at all. It may not have been a clan war David had battled, but a cop caught up in a gang war didn’t end well, either.
“Are ye looking forward to the games, lass?”
Abby was happy for the conversation change, but the mention of the games left her feeling a little guilty for thinking marriage was the only thing that occupied the laird’s mind. With talk of war, it was any wonder the clansmen were looking forward to the revelries.
Not to mention, these people relied on this type of activity to live, to make a hard life a little bit easier. “I am. I’ve never been to one before. And please, if you need any help, with anything at all, don’t hesitate to ask me. I’d like to be useful while I’m here, if possible.” As much as she hated being stuck in this harsh time, stuck she was, and she may as well be helpful, if she could.
“Oh no, my lady. You’ll be busy enough with the Highland Games and entertaining the visiting clans to worry about our stalls and such. Being the laird’s guest you’ll have many a brawny, attractive Highlander looking to make ye his wife. I should imagine you’ll be quite the popular lass.”
She laughed, while also feeling a little sick at the idea of being courted. The last thing she wanted was to be carried off into the sunset on some laird’s shoulders, his rank breath breathing all over her. “I’m not looking for a husband.”
The women stopped what they were doing and stared at her as if she’d lost her marbles. “But you’re a woman of means and of age. Why are ye not looking for a husband? Are ye entering the church?”
“As a nun? Oh, God no, but I’m young. I’m sure I’ll marry one day, but not yet.”
“Well, you’re a wee sweet-looking lass, and next week when the games begin, you’ll be courted, so ye better prepare yourself as best ye may.” The older woman gestured to the woman around Abby’s own age who sat across from her. “Who was that lad who visited some months ago?” She thought for a moment. “Laird Cullen of Clan Roxborough, I believe. If he doesn’t turn every lady’s gaze, I don’t know who will, notwithstanding our own laird, of course. Our MacLeod will always be a favorite.”
Abby smiled. It was understandable they loved their laird more than any other, and would never gainsay him in front of a guest of his, but she was still deciding what she thought of him. Handsome yes, but as prickly as a cactus bush in Arizona he most certainly was.
“So what will happen at these games exactly?” The women stared at her, and Abby made a mental note to try and remember not to stand out like a nitwit who knew nothing of their life.
“How can ye be a guest of the laird’s but not know anything about a highland game? You must have traveled a great distance to be here and lived a verra sheltered life.”
“You have no idea.” Abby chuckled, placed her sewing down, stood, and dusted off her skirts. “And you’re right, I’m not from Scotland or England, so I know little of the ways here, but I look forward to learning as much as I can before I return home.” She nodded and walked toward Gwen, who stood talking to a man she hadn’t seen before today. The slight flush on the woman’s cheeks made it easy to surmise Gwen felt something for him. Abby came and stood next to them and smiled.
“Abigail Cross this is Braxton MacLeod, the clan’s best swordsmen and distant relative to us all. He’s also competing in the games.”
Abby held out her hand to shake his, and he jumped back as if she were about to grab his nether regions. Heat seized her body, and she dropped her hand quickly. “Forgive me. I meant to shake your hand. It’s how we greet people in my country.”
He threw her a quizzical look, but smiled a little. “I’m honored to meet you, Abigail. Any friend of Gwen’s is a friend of mine.”
Abby smiled at Gwen, knowing what the play was between these two. She would lay money down that the two were in love. “Good luck next week, Braxton. I’m sure you’ll do well.”
“I truly hope so. I have high hopes my future will be settled at the completion of the games.”
She nodded and left them alone. It was obvious by the longing gazes between the pair that she was only a third wheel. She walked toward the castle the same way Gwen had taken her earlier, but spying a staircase leading up to the stone bridge near the front, she changed direction and went that way.
The courtyard was still abuzz with servants. She nodded to those who made eye contact, and tried to be as friendly as possible. If she was stuck here for the foreseeable future, she needed to have as many friends as she could muster. These times were dangerous enough, without creating enemies.
Abby entered the castle, the damp, cold stones making her skin prickle with gooseflesh. She rubbed her arms as the small passage opened up into the Great Hall. Trestle tables with long wooden benches filled the space. At the end of the room, a larger table, the dais, ran in the opposite direction to those before it, obviously where the laird sat each night.
She looked up at the wooden beams that spanned the roof. A large window sat at one end, while near the dais, a roaring fire burned behind the table. A minstrel’s gallery ran the length of the room, and from here she could see two servants dusting the dark wooden railings.
Abby walked over to the roaring fire and warmed herself. She watched the wood burn for a moment before a servant came up to her and bobbed a curtsy.
“Will ye follow me, mistress Cross? Laird MacLeod would like to see ye in the anteroom.”
“Me?” At the girl’s large beckoning eyes, she sighed. “Okay. Show me the way.” The girl visibly relaxed and headed toward a passage behind the main dining table. She hadn’t been in this part of the castle before, and the lower ceiling made her feel a little claustrophobic. The walls were bare, and a lone narrow window stood at the end of the corridor, before they stopped near a door adjacent to it.
The girl gestured to the room, and looking inside, Abby saw Aedan sitting behind a large desk. He was studying some scrolls—one laid out and held open by what looked like smooth rocks.
She entered, but was startled as the door slammed closed. Still, he didn’t acknowledge her presence. Abby narrowed her eyes and looked about the room, instead. The walk to his office had seemed cold and menacing, yet this room was warm and welcoming. Tapestries covered the walls, and being a corner room it housed two windows, allowing plenty of light to enter. A large fire burned in the grate and an assortment of candles sat atop, giving off more light.
The room looked softer compared to the rest of the castle. As this was his domain, did it reflect his personality? She had to concede from what the villagers had said about him he was a fair laird.
“Sit.”
The curt order put to rest the nice thoughts she was having about him. “What’s the magic word?” she taunted, not willing to do what she was told.
“Excuse me?” He did look at her then. Well, maybe look was the wrong word. Glare? Dismiss as an idiot, could come a close second.
Abby would allow him this win. She sat and raised her brows. “Never mind. I don’t expect you to get it.” She paused. “You wanted to see me?”
He studied her a moment, his features unreadable. “I did. I wanted to talk to you about the games next week and what is expected of you. We need ye to be prepared for the questions that will be asked, and ensure you know how to answer them appropriately. I don’t need any trouble brewing between the clans who’ll be meeting here. They’re volatile enough without witchcraft and a time traveling wench making them ill at ease.”
“Wench? Really?” She sighed. “So, what is it you want me to know? Perhaps we ought to start there.”
He pulled out a piece of paper and skimmed it quickly before saying, “You’ll be a family friend from abroad; France, perhaps. That would, at least, explain your strange accent.”
“It’s not strange, it’s American. I thought your sister would’ve explained that to you since she’s the one who brought me here.” Sarcasm laced her tone, and she questioned why he aggravated her so. She wasn’t normally snappy and cross, but he seemed to bring out the worst in her. That he made her nervous, didn’t help. She looked up to him glaring at her again, his piercing green eyes like a beautiful, angry sea.
“I think she may have mentioned that.” He looked back at his paper. “Now—”
“Does your concern over my behavior in front of the clans have anything to do with your sister, Jinny?”
His gaze snapped up. “What do you know of Jinny?”
“Just that she lives away in solitude due to her mistreatment from Clan O’Cain. That they blinded her in some way and threw her away when she was no longer useful.” He regarded her for a moment before leaning back in his chair.
“It will be helpful to keep the visiting clans my allies rather than foes. I’m hoping they’ll stand with me against the O’Cains when the time comes.”
Abby could understand that. She may not like conflict or the outcome it brought with it, but since she also needed many friends in this time, Aedan’s similar need made sense. “I am sorry your sister was treated in such an abhorrent manner and because of it, I can promise I’ll not cause you any harm with the clans. I may not always say or do the right thing, but I’ll try my best.” Abby doubted she’d ever shocked someone more.
“I’ll be grateful to ye, if ye do.” He cleared his throat. “Now, getting back to who ye are in our time, you have no family and know no one here. We’ve never met before your arrival and you’re not married, nor have you ever been. You’re a maiden, and while you’re here, you shall act like all the other young women looking to marry.”
She snorted. “You want me to act like a maiden. Tell me exactly how a maiden acts. Is it different from any other young woman?” Abby smiled, enjoying his discomfort over her questioning. But he was such a by-the-rules, no-nonsense kind of man who really ought to stop worrying so much.
He frowned. “I do not need to instruct ye on the ways of a maiden. You’re a woman, you should know such things.”
“I’m not a simpering miss and even though I promised to behave myself, I’ll not act like a woman without a brain.” At his confusion she added, “I’m not a maiden and haven’t been for a few years, so I won’t act virginal, even if you demand it of me. Do you understand what I’m saying? I’m not going to beg for the attentions of all the Highlanders with skirts—”
“They’re kilts.”
“Whatever. You have another think coming.” She sat back and crossed her arms over her chest. His gaze honed in on that spot and she realized the action made her breasts look ready to bust out of her dress. She folded them onto her lap.
“Are ye telling me you’re not a virgin?”
He looked shocked and not a little repulsed. She smiled. “I’m twenty-two. You do the math.”
He sat back, and she wasn’t sure what he was thinking. He was a man who didn’t give a lot away, and for his role as laird, that was probably a handy trait. She changed tactics. “Are you a virgin, Aedan MacLeod?”
At her question, a flicker of a smile touched his lips. The action made her pause. Over the last few days she’d become used to his scowl, especially around her, but that small smile left her wondering what he’d look like laughing, happy, carefree. His deep green orbs, aristocratic jaw, and perfect nose told her he’d look pretty darn good. She swallowed.
“I am not.”
“Well then,” she said. “Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, perhaps you ought to continue on with what’s important to keep your family safe from the charge of witchcraft.”
He nodded and seemed to shake himself from his thoughts. “Of course. We also need to discuss your role as a member of our clan. Even though we know you’re no lady, you still need to act like one.”
Abigail choked over her words. “What the hell do you mean by that?” She stood and leaned over his desk. “If I’m not mistaken, you’re no gentleman, either. No doubt you’ve pleasured many female servants in many a location, so unless you don’t want to continue tupping as a pleasurable pastime, I’d watch what comes out of your mouth, before your man bits are shoved down your throat.”
He stood and towered over her. She lost some of her nerve, as he made her feel like a dwarf. Bloody tall Scotsman.
“You do not speak like a woman of class.”
His tone fired her blood to boiling. “I think you’re forgetting I didn’t choose to be here. I may have Scottish ancestry, but I’m certainly not what you would term a Scot. Nor am I a lady of a castle. I apologize if I’ve made a mess of your perfect life, but you need to take that problem up with your sister.” Abby paused, taking a deep breath to calm her temper. “I won’t cause any problems, as long as you get me home as soon as you can.”
He slumped back in his chair and rubbed his jaw. “If you can promise me you’ll act the lady, cause no offense to the clansmen coming to stay, and try to look like you’re enjoying my home and hospitality, I’ll apologize for my unkindness.”
“As to that, you’ll apologize now.” His jaw flexed, and she knew he didn’t like being told what to do by a woman.
“I’m sorry,” he said through clenched teeth.
She smiled. “Apology accepted,” she said, sitting back down.
...
Aedan took a calming breath. The woman was a hoyden and going to be the end of him, literally, if she didn’t start to cooperate. What his sister had been thinking bringing the lass here was beyond him.
Abigail Cross was trouble if ever he knew it.
“There are numerous clans coming for the games. Each clan’s laird and close family members will be housed in the castle for the duration of their stay. We will have shelter erected for their clansmen near the fields where the games will be taking place. I’ll leave the ladies of these great houses in Gwen and your capable hands.”
“Won’t the games themselves be entertainment enough?” she asked.
“Must you fight me on everything I say? Why can you not entertain some women?” He ran a hand through his hair and wondered what it was exactly his sister had seen in the lass that would suit him.
Aye, she was bonny, there was no doubt about that, with her rich dark strands of hair that fell about her shoulders. Her eyes were the same color, giving her an earthy appeal. Her skin was flawless, not a freckle graced her nose or cheeks, unlike so many of the Scottish lasses. Her figure wasn’t anything to dismiss, either. The strange trews she’d arrived in, tight-fitting across her ass, had made him want to run a hand across her soft flesh and squeeze.
He shifted on his chair and frowned. The sooner he procured a wife, the better. It had been too long between lasses as it was. He should probably find a willing miss…
Abigail’s words about bedding wenches in different locations turned his gut in pleasurable guilt. Not that he’d ever admit it to her, but yes, he’d indeed slept with some, and no doubt would again. As a man, he was permitted such activities. It was the way of the times. She’d soon be gone and his life would return to normal.
“Fine. I’ll do everything you ask, but on one condition.”
“And that is?” Her jaw jutted out, and he noted her lips. Supple, nicely shaped, a lovely shade of—
“That you return to me my phone and promise me that the moment your sister is able to do so, that I’m returned home.”
He nodded, meeting her eyes. “We’ve already agreed on this, and you have my word. As for the strange device you came with, I think it is best that I keep that until you depart. To be found with something so odd would only bring forth questions neither of us wish to answer.”
“I will keep it hidden, I promise, but please return it to me. It was fully charged when I left, and if you’re interested I could show you a little of my time, give you a glimpse of my life. Please, give it to me.”
Aedan didn’t wish to hand it over. Hell, never had he seen anything as odd as the metal object that she’d arrived with, and it was a dangerous move to allow her to keep it. But, mayhap, if he did give way on this one rule, she would stop being so prickly toward all that he asked of her. “Very well, I will give ye the object, but be mindful, I will take it back, break it into a million pieces, if I see it out around my people. Do ye understand me, lass?”
She held out her hand, nodding. “I understand perfectly.”
Aedan stood, gesturing toward the door. “I will bring it to your room later today.”
“You can’t give it to me now?”
“’Tis hidden, and I do not wish for ye to know where. So, as I stated, I shall bring it to your room, later.”
She stood and walked toward the door. “Fine, but I’ll be waiting, just so you know.”
He stopped himself from smiling at her audacity. “I’m assuming by the fact you’re about to walk out the door that this conversation is over?”
She looked confused and then laughed. He didn’t want to admit what that carefree, larger-than-life laugh did inside his chest.
“Yes. Unless there is something else you wish to discuss?”
“No, there is not. You may go.”
She waved over her head and was gone. He walked over to the window, looked down on the castle courtyard, and watched as their head cook, Mrs. Turner, dug in the garden for herbs and vegetables for the evening meal. He wasn’t fond of Abigail Cross, and the sooner his sister could send her back to her home and rightful time, the better. She wasn’t like the women he knew. Too opinionated and strong willed. She was a woman who could get herself into all sorts of trouble.
Trouble that he would have to settle. Hopefully, not with a sword.