"You mentioned you have sisters?"
"Six of them," he said, shaking his head. "It's chaos."
"I can imagine," she said, then hesitated. "No, actually, I can't imagine. I'm an only child," she added with a smile, thinking with a pang of her mother and father. "Lots of cousins, though."
"Aye, me too." Hugh chuckled. "No siblings, though? Can't imagine. It's a spacious cottage, of course — but you wouldn't know it with the racket those six make."
She giggled. "How old are they?"
"All younger. The eldest's fifteen — that's Maggie. And the youngest, Mary is seven — and the loudest," he added with a long-suffering sigh.
"Poor thing," she said with mock sympathy. "At least you've got an army of sisters to keep you safe when you need them."
"I suppose so. Nobody in the village would dare incur the wrath of the MacLeod coven," he said with a laugh. "Although…" He shook his head, turning to the bowls of soup they'd taken from the dining hall, and she tilted her head, curious.
"Although?"
"Oh, nothing. Just a village girl who doesn't seem worried about the wrath of my sisters. She's — well, it's a little embarrassing, but she's a little sweet on me."
Carissa felt a burst of jealousy deep in her chest, which she did her level best to smother. What right did she have to feel jealous? A handsome man like Hugh, young, unmarried… of course there were girls with feelings for him. "Oh, yes? And is the feeling mutual?" She hoped fervently that it wasn't — and the look on Hugh's face made her feel a lot better. He wrinkled his nose, shaking his head firmly.
"She's a little too young for me," he said. "Nice girl, I'm sure, but… well, she's insistent. Won't take no for an answer. Spread a few rumors, too, which gave us all no end of trouble…" He sighed, running a hand through his dark hair. "Ah, well. We've all done foolish things in the name of love. I can't hold it against her."
"I know what you mean," Carissa said, trying to disguise her relief that this villager girl's interest in Hugh was completely one-sided. She was keenly interested in what kind of rumors the girl might have spread, but she didn't want to risk seeming too interested — especially since the entire subject seemed to make Hugh uncomfortable. Still, she appreciated him sharing with her. "My last boyfriend was… a pretty bad idea, all things considered."
"Men are generally terrible, yes," Hugh said solemnly. "I'm doing my best to impart that wisdom on my sisters, to varying degrees of success."
She laughed. "Well, good luck with that. I'm beginning to think that the only way to learn that is to experience it first-hand. My mother was right about this guy. He was a waste of time." It felt good to say that about Jim — to finally dismiss him, to put him on the garbage heap of her life where he belonged. Especially now that she was spending time with someone so unlike him… someone as handsome and charismatic as Hugh. Someone who hadn't given her any reason to distrust him.
Well, not yet, she reminded herself firmly.
Jim had seemed better in the early days of their relationship, too. Not that this was a relationship, she told herself, suppressing the urge to roll her eyes at how eager she was being. He was just being friendly, that was all.
They kept chatting about their lives as they ate their soup, which was delicious and hearty — then they lay for another few hours in the straw, just talking. It was surprising how comfortable she felt in his company. Usually, talking with other people was a limited kind of thing for her — she could manage an hour or two before she felt the need to recharge her batteries on her own. But Hugh was so easy to talk to. He had so many stories about his little sisters — and the loving way he spoke about them was so charming she couldn't help but ask more and more questions, coaxing him into longer and longer stories until she realized with a start that it must have been almost midnight.
"You must be exhausted," she said, noticing him fighting back a yawn. "Will you sleep here tonight?"
"Aye, that's the plan," he said with a smile. "I was going to ride home, but — well, good company is quite a distraction."
She blushed to the roots of her hair at the compliment, grateful for the cover of night to hide the blush. Was he just being polite, or was that flirting? Impossible to know… and at any rate, she needed to get back to her room before she said something stupid. They bid each other goodnight and he walked her back to the castle steps — and as she headed down the dark corridor toward her room, she could feel her heart pounding like a drum in her chest. He liked her company. He liked talking to her. And she, for her part, was utterly infatuated with him.
She slept deeply again that night and woke refreshed and full of a curious feeling that took her sleepy mind a few minutes to recognize. It was — happiness. Honest excitement for what the day would bring. And, when she remembered Hugh's smile in the dark of the stables, it was tinged with a touch of a feeling she remembered from a very long time ago. The feeling of meeting someone new, of feeling that spark, of knowing that there was something exciting here to explore… and, to her delight, she knew she had as much time as she wanted to explore it. No rent to pay, no deadlines to adhere to, no shitty ex-boyfriend to coax into collecting all his crap from her apartment. Just a new world to explore, new friends to get to know, a whole new life to live.
It was a whirlwind of a day, in the end. She had breakfast with Maria and Edith, who chatted at length with her about what to expect here in Dunscaith Castle, and in medieval Scotland more generously. Edith took her up to her quarters after breakfast to try on a few of her dresses and let her borrow a beautiful blue dress that was only a little too tight in the hips and bodice.
"I really better learn to sew, hey?" she said with a smile, admiring herself in the mirror. "I'm worried I'm going to break all the seams on this." But Edith wouldn't hear her apologies — insisted she take as many dresses as she liked.
It took some getting used to the new dress — the feeling of moving with full skirts was unusual to Carissa, who was used to living life in jeans, but surprisingly enough she didn't exactly find the skirts uncomfortable. There was something reassuring about them, something nice about the modesty of them, too. Nobody could see the shape of her legs under the skirts; that was it — nobody could leer at the outline of her body, if leering was something they were predisposed to. Edith nodded when she mentioned this.
"I completely agree. Back home… well, no matter what you wear it's going to make someone unhappy, right? Dress modestly and people will call you a prude, show more skin and you're a slut… there's no winning. May as well pick something that's comfortable." She smiled, leaning in a little. "Want to know a fun secret? They hide pregnancy very well."
She tilted her head, a little confused by the non-sequitur — then her eyes widened as Edith's smile spread. "Wait! You're –"
"A few months along, yes," she said brightly, her eyes twinkling as she rested a hand protectively on her belly. "I can't wait."
"That's amazing, Edith," she said, touched that the woman had chosen to share her news with her. "Congratulations."
"Not many people know. Bran does, of course," she said quickly, grinning a little. "He's so protective it's almost annoying. Almost," she added, the love in her eyes unmistakable.
"I'm so happy for you two," she said, smiling at the woman. "Where's my gorgeous Scottish husband, by the way? Did yours just arrive in the post when you got here, or –"
Edith laughed hard at that, her eyes shining. "That's what I said to Maria! But I wouldn't be surprised if you met someone," she said, tilting her head a little slyly. "Maybe you already have."
They had lunch with the Laird and Bran, the tanist, something that would have been a little intimidating to Carissa if she hadn't had both Maria and Edith at her side to make her feel better. The Laird, Cameron, was very interested to hear more about the doorway — especially with the fact that Carissa had been wishing for a new life, a transformation, before she crawled through the passageway.
"I wonder if that had anything t
o do with it?" Edith said thoughtfully. "I mean… I wasn't exactly happy in my old life, either."
"Maybe magic takes requests," Maria said drily.
Later that afternoon, she slipped away down to the stables — this time with an apple stashed in her pocket. The old gelding that Hugh called Scath was in his stall, and his ears perked up when he recognized her. She smiled, letting herself into his stall and stroking his nose gently.
"Just wanted to say thanks for being my first friend here," she said to him, letting him crunch up the apple from the palm of her hand. There was a soft but meaningful cough behind her, and she grinned as she turned to see Hugh there, one eyebrow raised.
"Excuse me? First friend?"
"Sorry, Hugh, he beat you to it." She shrugged, grinning widely. "But if you'd like I can bring you an apple tomorrow night, too."
"No, no. I was beaten fair and square." He chuckled, leaning on the stall door. "Would you like to join me for dinner again tonight?"
She nodded, a broad smile on her face. "Absolutely."
Chapter 10
The first few days of her life in Scotland passed by pleasantly. She spent the days exploring the castle and getting to know Maria and Edith — and in the evenings, she slipped down to the stables to have dinner with Hugh. In the evenings, after spending time with Hugh, she wrote in her diary the things she was learning, murmuring out loud to herself in the quiet of her peaceful little room. It was a wonderful few days… and when she woke up with a sore throat and a stuffy nose, she tried her best to ignore it. But she got as far as the breakfast table before a wave of dizziness hit her and she had to sit down.
Maria was at her side in an instant, sizing her up. "Cold symptoms?"
"Yeah, but –"
"You're getting sick. Back to bed," she said firmly. "Me and Edith had exactly the same trouble when we got here. I think it's something to do with our immune systems not being adjusted."
"I'll be fine," she protested, worried at the idea of missing out on her evening date with Hugh. "It's just a cold."
"Remember what we told you about the downsides of living here?" Edith said softly. "About medical care not being exactly top-notch? Get some rest, Carissa. You'd be surprised how quickly 'just a cold' can turn serious."
She couldn't argue with that — especially not with Maria, who had a look in her eyes that made it very clear that she knew how to deal with people who weren't doing what they were told. Far be it for Carissa to disobey the orders of a New York cop — even a retired one. So, she headed back upstairs, grumbling resentfully as she went. Still, it felt good to be back in bed. She'd just have to make sure she got a message to Hugh somehow.
But she needn't have bothered worrying. It seemed word had spread quickly of her illness — it wasn't long before Hugh himself was at her door with a covered tray in his hands and a worried look on his face.
"I brought you some breakfast," he said with a smile. "Maria said you were feeling unwell."
"Just a cold," she said irritably… but she was secretly delighted to see him.
He sat with her for a little while to chat while she ate, then left her to rest once she was finished. Sure enough, by midday the 'just a cold' was feeling rather unpleasant — a lot more like a flu than a cold, with aching joints joining fatigue and sniffles on the symptom list. She spent the afternoon sleeping, and when she woke up, an unfamiliar girl was tapping on her door with a tray.
"I'm Niamh," the girl said as she brought the tray in. She must have been eighteen or nineteen, maybe even younger, and she was wearing the clothes that Carissa had seen the servants in. "I've been assigned to you while you're sick." She didn't exactly sound thrilled about it, Carissa noticed with some amusement, but she smiled anyway, sitting up carefully to accept the tray of food.
"Nice to meet you, Niamh. I'm Carissa."
"Why do you talk like that?" she asked suddenly, her eyes narrowing and her expression sharp. "I haven't heard an accent like that before and I've been all the way to England."
"Everyone speaks like this where I'm from," she said carefully, remembering what she'd been told about gossipy servants. "What about you? Where are you from?"
"The village," Niamh said, pointing vaguely southwards. "I'm only working in the castle until I get married, though."
"Oh? That's exciting. When are you getting married?"
"I don't know," Niamh said, a little coolly. "He hasn't asked yet. But he will."
"Oh, I bet," Carissa said with a smile, wondering if it was even possible to get on this girl's good side. "If he's lucky enough to have a girl as pretty as you wanting to marry him…" That seemed to do the trick. Niamh's expression softened, and she smiled a little, reaching up to toy with her dark brown hair.
"Maria was saying you arrived without extra dresses?" she said, tilting her head curiously.
"No, I suppose I didn't. Edith lent me another dress, but –"
"She's pregnant, you know," Niamh cut her off, her eyes full of mischief. "She's keeping it a secret but she's definitely pregnant."
"How do you know that?" Carissa said, a little taken aback by the girl's gleeful expression. She could see what Maria meant about the villagers liking to gossip — she was glad she'd been careful about what she'd said about where she was from. But Niamh was shrugging, clearly taking Carissa's surprise as a compliment.
"I know all kinds of things. I keep an ear out, that's all," she said mysteriously, clearly very pleased with herself. "Anyway, I'm very good with a needle and thread, so if you wanted to do some dressmaking when you're feeling better, I can help."
Carissa hesitated. Niamh reminded her a lot of the girls she'd hated in high school — she was stressful just to be around. But she had a feeling she'd figured out the knack of staying on the girl's good side… and it was true that she needed some dresses. So, she nodded, forcing a smile onto her face. "That'd be great. I'm hopeless with sewing."
"That's alright," Niamh said magnanimously, and Carissa hid her amusement. Arrogant people were so easy to manipulate. "I can teach you. You just have to do exactly as I say, alright? Promise."
"I promise," she said, a little taken aback by the girl's intensity.
Then, with a sickly sweet smile, Niamh bid her goodnight and flounced out, forgetting to take the tray with her. Carissa shook her head as she settled in for the night, amused to learn that not everyone at the castle was as nice as her newest friends.
But Niamh was a godsend over the next few days. It became clear very quickly that she was too unwell to leave her room. But she had no movies to watch, like she usually did when she was sick… no TV, no phone, not even a book to read. She'd have been terribly bored if it wasn't for Niamh bringing an armful of fabric and an ornate little basket that contained a collection of pins and needles and a little pair of scissors. Business-like, she hauled Carissa out of bed to take her measurements, then they set about marking up the fabric for a dress.
"It'll be like the one I'm wearing," she explained brightly as she spread the dark fabric over the floor of the little room, marking it up with a swift, expert hand. Carissa could only watch, trying to keep up with what the girl was up to, wishing she could take notes in her journal — but not wanting Niamh to know where she kept the little book. Somehow, she had a suspicion that Niamh wasn't the kind of girl who would respect her privacy on this or any other matter.
Still, the dress took shape as the days wore on, and she was able to pick up more than a few tips from Niamh as those days turned into weeks. Eventually she did give up on trying to remember what she was learning and dug out her journal — not while Niamh was there, of course, not wanting to give away her hiding spot, but she didn't miss the sharp way the girl looked at the book, the casual way she tried to glance over Carissa's shoulder while she was taking notes with the ink and quill Maria had given her for when she wanted to write, since the ball point pens would have been a risk. She was glad she'd turned over a fresh page for her sewing notes, because the previous page had
involved a detailed description of a dream she'd had about Hugh and she wasn't especially keen on sharing that… especially since she wasn't sure that Niamh was much older than a child.
"It looks nice on you," Niamh said thoughtfully a couple of weeks later as Carissa twirled in the finished result of their efforts. "I mean, nice enough. The bodice is a bit crooked and we could have made the sleeves a little bigger for your big manly arms, but –"
"Thanks, Niamh," Carissa said drily. "For the vote of confidence in my powerful, muscular arms. But thanks for teaching me to sew. Really. I wish I could make something for you to say thanks."
Niamh snorted. "You're not good enough to make anything I'd wear. Not yet, anyway," she added with a sickly little smile that made Carissa grit her teeth.
At least that was … well, halfway to a compliment, anyway. At least it was a vote of confidence in her ability to get there one day… and she had to admit, Niamh was a fantastic seamstress. The dark dress she was wearing felt very comfortable, and she couldn't wait to show it off to Hugh. Her cold was more or less completely gone — she still felt a little weary today, but the rest of the symptoms had vanished, and Maria had given her the all-clear to go back to wandering around the castle at her leisure.
"There's one thing you could do for me," Niamh said thoughtfully, quirking an eyebrow at her. "You could let me look at that book you're always scribbling your notes in."
Carissa froze. Her journal… she'd had a suspicion Niamh was interested in it. The girl's dark eyes were intense, fixed on her as she waited for a response. Carissa hesitated. "It's just a bunch of notes about sewing."
"It's more than that though, isn't it?" Niamh said, moving closer. "I saw you writing in it the other night when I was bringing you your supper. You were speaking out loud as you wrote, like a little child spelling out her letters."
Carissa gritted her teeth, embarrassed to be overheard. What had she been writing? What on Earth had Niamh been doing, eavesdropping on her like that?
Hold A Highlander: A Scottish Time Travel Romance (A Highlander Across Time Book 3) Page 6