Promise of a Highlander

by Baker, Katy

"What are ye planning, lass?"

  She glanced at him. "Because of the mud we can't lift the cart ourselves. We can't exert enough force and the cart will just get shifted sideways again and crush Murtagh. We need to apply force onto a lever at the right angle and distance. That way we can exert more upward pressure, enough to negate the suction of the mud, and hopefully lift the cart and drag Murtagh out."

  The man returned carrying bits of the gate he’d managed to break down. Lia examined the pieces, glanced at the dimensions of the cart, and chose a post that she estimated was the right length for what she needed. She only hoped it would be strong enough.

  "Roll the rock beneath the cart on this side," she instructed, pointing to the side furthest from where Murtagh lay. When they’d got the rock in place, she slid the pole across the top so that it became a construction like a see-saw, with the rock acting as the fulcrum and the post as the lever.

  "Ready?" Lia said. “One, two, three, push!”

  Ross and the men pushed down on one end of the pole with all their strength. As they pushed one side down, the other rose like a see-saw, pushing against the underside of the wagon bed and lifting it. Ross and the men strained, muscles tensed, until finally there came a sucking noise and the wagon bed lifted out of the mud.

  Murtagh howled as the pressure on his leg lessened and the two women quickly dragged him to safety.

  "Release!" Lia yelled.

  Ross and the men let go of the pole and the wagon sank back into the mud. Ross dropped to one knee at Murtagh’s side. The women were already busy assessing the man’s injuries. They'd hiked up his plaid and Lia was probing his thigh which was a mess of blood and torn flesh. Murtagh yowled and writhed under her touch.

  Ross grabbed Murtagh's shoulders and pinned him down whilst Lia worked.

  "Will he live?" Murtagh's wife asked anxiously.

  "I...I...think so," Lia replied. "I've seen crush injuries like this before. I think he's been lucky, and the bone isn't broken. The muscle is torn though, so he's going to need stitches. Do you have a doctor you can get him to?"

  When the woman stared at her blankly, she amended, "I mean an apothecary? A healer? The wound needs to be cleaned out, stitched and bandaged and I don't have those supplies."

  Murtagh's wife nodded. "Aye, there's one in the next village."

  "Good. Then I suggest you go there right away. He won't be able to walk. You'll need to put him on the horse. Remember: the wound must be kept clean at all costs."

  The woman licked her lips and then nodded, looking pale and frightened. The horse was cut from the traces and Ross helped to lift Murtagh over the saddle. The man’s head lolled, and he drifted in and out of consciousness but at least he was alive. The rest of the group gathered the turnips into sacks which they slung over their shoulders. Then, with a chorus of thanks, they began trudging down the track, carefully leading the horse and its burden.

  Lia watched them go. "Do you think he'll be okay? In my time he'd be fine after a trip to the hospital for some stitches and antiseptic. Here? I don't know."

  "He has a greater chance than he did when we first came upon him," Ross replied. "Thanks to ye."

  She glanced up at him and a faint blush crept into her cheeks. The sunlight caught the hints of gold in her hair and her full lips curled into a smile that put dimples in her cheeks. Lord, how could he not have noticed how beautiful she was? Or how capable?

  "How did you know how to lift that cart?" he asked.

  She shrugged. “It’s only mathematics. Once you know the equations it’s pretty simple. Put mathematics and construction together and you get what I am—a civil engineer.”

  He guessed he must be wearing a puzzled expression because she suddenly laughed lightly. “It means I build things.”

  “Ye are a builder? Seems a strange occupation for a woman."

  She raised an eyebrow but then smiled. "Actually, you’re kind of right. There still aren't that many women in the industry. My dad started the company but when he brought his daughter into the business, there were a few raised eyebrows."

  She faltered, the smile sliding from her face, as though she’d said more than she intended.

  "Come, lass,” Ross said softly. “There’s a town about an hour's ride from here. I reckon we've both earned a night's rest in a decent inn, dinna ye?"

  "An inn?” she asked, brightening. “Will there be a bath?"

  "I'm sure that can be arranged."

  She spun on her heel and marched over to Traveler. "Come on then!” she cried over her shoulder. “What are we waiting for?"

  Chapter 6

  Lia couldn't help staring as they rode into town. What had Ross called it? Alford? It seemed a fairly prosperous place with streets radiating out from a stone-built church which boasted a square tower and even stained-glass windows. The streets were unpaved and muddy but nonetheless filled with more people than Lia had seen in one place since she'd left Inverness airport.

  "It's market day," Ross said by way of explanation. "Unlucky for us. I hope the inn isnae full."

  Stalls lined the streets selling all kinds of wares. Some were brimming with fruit and vegetables. Others sold leather work or iron goods and there were pens set up full of goats and chickens. Loud bargaining was taking place—mainly in Gaelic—and the sounds, smells and sights coalesced to make it a somewhat overwhelming experience.

  I'm really here, Lia thought. I'm really in the sixteenth century. If I still had any doubts, this would dispel them.

  Ross clucked to Traveler and guided the horse up an alley to a large timber-framed building with two storys. A stable yard lay out back into which he guided the horse. A young lad came running.

  "Will ye be wanting accommodation, my lord?"

  "Aye," Ross replied gruffly. "And a meal and stabling for my horse."

  "Very good. I'll let mistress know."

  He inclined his head and disappeared into the inn while a second lad came forward and took Traveler's bridle. The huge horse bared his teeth at the stable lad but quieted when Ross gave him a few quick commands. He swung down from the saddle and then held up his hand to help Lia dismount. She took his hand, swung her leg over the saddle, and all but fell out of it. Only Ross's strong hands around her waist stopped her falling on the muddy cobbles.

  "Um...thanks," she mumbled. She found herself looking up at him.

  He cleared his throat and stepped back. "I canna have ye falling flat on yer arse, can I now?" He pulled off the saddlebags then led the way to the back door of the inn.

  But just as they reached it, the door opened, and a man stepped out, barely avoiding a collision with Ross.

  “Apologies, friend,” he muttered as he staggered past, reeking of alcohol.

  Ross ducked his head without replying and reached for the door handle but the man suddenly slewed round.

  “Wait a minute!” he cried, grinning widely. “I know ye! Ross? Ross MacAuley? It is ye! I dinna believe it!”

  He wobbled unsteadily back to Ross and clapped him on the shoulder. “How long has it been, my old friend?”

  Ross scowled. “Robert MacCollum. What are ye doing here?”

  Robert shrugged. “It’s as good a place as any. Where have ye been all this time? Everyone thought ye were dead! Come inside and let’s catch up over a jug or two!”

  “Nay,” Ross replied. “I’m busy.”

  Robert seemed to notice Lia for the first time. He looked her up and down, a leer lighting his face. “So I see. My, my, Ross ye always did have an eye for the whores. Can I have her when ye are finished?”

  Ross moved like lightning. He grabbed the front of Robert’s tunic and hauled him up, forcing him onto tiptoes. “Ye still havenae learned any manners, have ye? Ye will apologize. Now.”

  Robert licked his lips. “My apologies. I didnae mean aught by it!”

  Ross released Robert who staggered a few steps before straightening. He glared at Ross then gave Lia a mocking bow. “Enjoy yer stay, my lady.”


  With that, he staggered off, weaving slightly.

  “What was all that about?” Lia demanded.

  Ross stared after Robert then shook his head. “It doesnae matter.” He pulled open the door. "Ye must go along with whatever I say,” he told her in a low voice. “Even if ye dinna like it. We mustnae draw unwanted attention."

  She nodded. Her raincoat was already folded and packed into the saddlebag so the thoroughly modern material didn't cause people to stare. The only problem was this left her in her leggings and T-shirt. 'Half-naked' as Ross had said.

  She followed Ross through the door and into a large room with a scrubbed floor and a fire roaring in the hearth. Tables and plank benches filled the space. The walls were made from white-washed plaster with thick, wooden beams holding up the ceiling. Lia tried not to stare. This was the first sixteenth century inn she'd ever been inside.

  Her attention was diverted by a large woman who came bustling over. She wore a voluminous blue woolen dress and had red ringlets piled up on top of her head. She took one look at Ross and bobbed a curtsey.

  "Good day to ye, my lord," she said in an accent as thick as Ross's. "I have my best room available for ye."

  "Not for me," Ross cut in. "I will sleep in the stable." He stepped aside and the innkeeper's eyes fell on Lia. They widened at the sight of her clothing.

  "This is Lady Emelia Shaw," he said. "I am escorting her to her kin in the south. She will require a room for the night, a bath, and a change of clothing." He took out a small pouch that jangled with coins. "And she requires absolute discretion. Can ye manage all of that, Mistress?"

  The innkeeper's eyes alighted on the bag of coins. She nodded. "Aye, my lord. I'm sure I can."

  The innkeeper turned to Lia and bobbed a curtsey. "If ye will follow me, my lady?"

  Lia glanced at Ross. He nodded and Lia followed the innkeeper up a set of creaking stairs. The red-haired woman kept up a constant chatter all the way.

  "There will be game pie for supper tonight if ye are so inclined, my lady. My husband shot three grouse this morning. Three! He's the best shot in town, if I do say so myself. Ye'll meet him tonight nay doubt and ye'll recognize him by his peg leg. Lost it when he was just a bairn but he doesnae let it stop him, nay matter what the gossips around here might say..."

  Lia let it wash over her, nodding and murmuring agreement, until they finally stopped at a door at the end of a long corridor. The innkeeper fumbled with some keys and then pushed her way inside.

  As she followed, Lia stopped abruptly, staring around with her mouth hanging open. The room was not what she'd expected from the quaint little inn. Sumptuously decorated, it had thick rugs on the floor, rich tapestries on the wall and a huge four-poster bed with covers sewn with gold brocade. Jeez, how much had Ross paid the woman? It was clearly the best room in the place.

  "Is the room to my lady's satisfaction?" the innkeeper asked.

  "Satisfaction?" Lia replied. "It's beautiful!"

  The woman beamed. "I'll have the lasses bring up the bathtub and I'll have a go at finding ye a set of clothes as befits yer station."

  "Um. Great. Thank you."

  The innkeeper dropped another curtsey and then left the room. Lia crossed to the bed and threw herself down on it, allowing herself to sink into the soft covers. Holy crap, she was tired. She felt like she could sleep for a week. And yet a nervous tension bubbled through her that had her up off the bed again and striding to the window. It looked out over the street. The sounds of chatter and bargaining reached her ears. Sixteenth century life went on out there, just meters away.

  She seated herself in the chair by the window and watched the goings-on. The more she observed, the more she realized it wasn't so very different from a market day anywhere. She saw three women with baskets of wares strapped to their backs gossiping and laughing together just like friends would do anywhere. She watched a child being told off by her father for throwing a tantrum when he wouldn't buy her a piece of ribbon. She saw a group of youths playing something a little like soccer and getting yelled at by a stallholder when the ball—which looked like an inflated sheep’s bladder—landed in the middle of the stallholder’s vegetables.

  Hmm, maybe it wasn't so different to home after all.

  A knock on the door startled her musings. The innkeeper entered with an army of serving girls behind her.

  The serving girls carried in a metal tub and numerous buckets of hot water. Under the innkeeper's instructions they placed the tub in front of the fireplace and began filling it. Lia felt a twinge of guilt. She was used to turning the faucet and having running hot water. It wasn't like that here. How much effort must these people have gone to in order to heat enough water for her bath?

  "Um...thank you," she said. "That looks great."

  The serving girls gave her little curtseys before filing out.

  The innkeeper laid out some clothes on the bed. "These were given me by a guest in payment for a debt," she said. "I was going to sell them in the market but I reckon they look about yer size, my lady. What do ye think?"

  Lia looked over the garments. There were several woolen dresses with flaring skirts, long sleeves and tight bodices, a shift to go underneath and long stockings. She reached out and fingered one of the dress’s arms. They were well made and very pretty and would look lovely if she was going to a party or a fancy meal or something like that. But for everyday wear? For riding across country on horseback and pulling men from under wagons?

  "They're beautiful," she said. "And I'm grateful for you finding them for me but don't you have anything a bit more...flexible?"

  The innkeeper looked at her inquisitively. "Flexible?"

  "Yes, you know, something that will allow freedom of movement. Like the tunic the stable hands were wearing when we rode in. And maybe some leggings to go with them?"

  The woman blinked in surprise. "But that’s men's clothes! Why would ye want to dress such a way?" She sounded as scandalized as if Lia had said she wanted to walk around stark naked!

  Lia winced inwardly. Damn, she had to remember where she was! Hadn't Ross told her that she mustn't draw attention to herself? She thought quickly.

  "Um...er... it's all the fashion in Venice."

  The innkeeper’s eyebrows almost climbed into her hairline. "Ye are from Venice?"

  "I...um...yes...that's right."

  The woman visibly relaxed and nodded to herself as though being Italian explained all Lia’s eccentricities. "I'll see what I can find then, my lady. Would ye like me to send one of my lasses up to help ye bathe?"

  "Um...no..." Lia replied. "I'll be fine. Thank you."

  The innkeeper gave her a look that suggested she thought this too was another of Lia's eccentricities. She gave another curtsey. Lia wished they'd all stop doing that. What had possessed Ross to tell them she was a lady? It was hard enough to keep up the pretense that she was from this time at all, let alone a noblewoman from this time.

  Lia breathed out a sigh of relief when the woman left. She crossed over to the bath and stuck in a finger. The water temperature was perfect and the serving girls had left some large folded cloths to use as towels. Lia eagerly stripped off her clothing and stepped into the tub, sinking right up to her chin.

  She rested her head back against the rim and she must have dozed off because she startled awake a while later when the innkeeper came bustling in again.

  She cried out in surprise but the innkeeper seemed not the least perturbed by barging in whilst Lia was naked. Lia sank below the water until only her head was visible whilst the woman laid another set of clothes out on the bed.

  "I sent one of the lasses to the market. With the amount of coin yer serving man gave me I thought it only right to purchase new garments rather than giving ye old things."

  Lia stifled a smile. She wondered how Ross would react to being referred to as her 'serving man'. She rested her chin on the rim of the bath and looked at the new clothes. There were several soft tunics in a va
riety of colors and several pairs of dark leggings. A leather belt would go over the top.

  "Perfect," she said. "They will match my boots. Thank you. I'm really grateful for your help."

  The innkeeper smiled. "Well, when ye get back to Venice ye can show off the clothing ye bought here in the Highlands. We wouldnae want our Italian cousins to think we are a bunch of uncouth savages!"

  "I'll be sure to tell them."

  After the innkeeper left Lia waited a moment to be sure the woman wasn't about to barge back in on her, then quickly finished her bath, dried off, and wrapped towels around her body and hair. It was amazing how a simple bath could make her feel better. She almost felt like her old self. Almost.

  She chose the blue tunic. It was woven from stout wool and had a bit of gold embroidery around the sleeves and neckline. As she pulled it over her head, she found it fitted her perfectly. The innkeeper had a good eye.

  She pulled on her leggings and boots. Lastly, she took the hair brush that sat on the mantelpiece and pulled it through her hair. There. Done. She felt better than she had since she'd arrived in this time.

  Her stomach rumbled, reminding her that she’d only eaten Ross’s travel rations all day. She crossed to the door, yanked it open, and stuck her head into the corridor. There was nobody in sight but the hubbub of conversation rose up from the common room below. Lia stepped out into the corridor and pulled the door shut behind her. Straightening her shoulders, she sucked in a breath.

  Right, she thought. Here goes. I’m just a noblewoman passing through. I can do this.

  Before she could lose her nerve, she quickly descended the stairs to the common room. She paused at the bottom as a wall of heat and noise hit her. It was the time of day when people must have finished their work and retired to the inn. Almost every bench was filled with rowdy, raucous Scots.

  She spotted Ross in a corner, hunched over a tankard. He had his back to her, staring into his drink. There was a little island of calm around him as though the patrons knew to leave him well alone.

  She took a step but halted as two women walked over to his table. They wore dresses with low-cut bodices that left little to the imagination and walked with a saunter that suggested they were used to garnering male attention.