He came to stand before her. His eyes searched hers. "Ye don't know me as well as ye think," he said, his voice low and tense.
She wanted to back away from him but the oven was behind her. She raised her chin. "If I don't, it's no fault of mine," she said.
"Would ye have me as a teacher?"
She was suddenly warmer than even the heat of the oven warranted. His voice had changed somehow. His tone was still challenging, dangerous. But she wasn't sure where the danger lay, or what he was challenging her to do. The man was maddening.
"I don't need a teacher," she said, for want of anything sufficiently withering.
"No?"
"No!"
He raised his hand. For an instant she thought he was about to strike her. Instead he caught one of the curls that had escaped from her braid and tucked it back behind her ear. She almost jerked away from him with the shock of such a tender, intimate gesture, the sensation of his fingers touching the sensitive flesh of her ear. He lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her slowly. Deliberately. Completely.
"Leave Alasdair to me," he said, lifting his head and setting her away from him. "I know what's best for my ain brothair."
He turned and left the kitchen. Julia turned back to her vegetables, her insides still trembling from their brief encounter.
How did he manage to affect her so deeply? All he'd had to do was stand near her, touch her ear. She'd been feeding Alasdair, touching him and laughing with him, but she hadn't experienced anything akin to the total arousal she felt whenever Darach came within a yard of her.
Then he'd gone and kissed her. God, she hated that. All it took was one sweet, warm kiss from that outrageously sensuous mouth of his and she was a bowl of crиme brыlйe. And when he'd finished reducing her to mush, he'd strolled off in his smug, arrogant, "I'm the MacStruan" way, leaving her to go along with whatever he said. And she'd stood there like a carp, gaping after him.
"Cuthach," she muttered to herself. She stiffened and gasped.
Little Cat gave a sniff from the hearth. Julia looked at her in wonder. "Now where did that word come from?" she asked, her chopping knife in midstroke. She shook her head to clear away her confusion. "The word means madness," she said softly. ''But how could I possibly know that?"
Little Cat licked her chops, yawned, and curled back up into a comfortable ball behind the wood stack. Julia went back to work, trying hard to forget the eerie sensation of that unbidden word.
Chapter Twelve
Auld Bruce's house needed fixing, Darach reported to Julia the following morning. He and some of the others were going to help the older man with the repairs.
"If ye like, ye may come out to the green," he said, never looking up from his oatmeal.
Julia nearly choked on the last bite of her breakfast. "I can what?"
He looked up. "Come ye out on the green. It bids fair to be a clear day. Stay on the green where we can see ye, and ye can stay out as long as we're workin' on the Bruce's house."
She decided it was best not to question his change of heart. She smiled and nodded. "I'll be ready right away."
The day was indeed clear, with the sky a blue of such intensity and clarity that the sight took Julia's breath away. She strolled about the green, looking at all the houses and reveling in the chance to be somewhere other than the house or the gardens.
The lairds devoted most of their time to working on Bruce's repairs, but she never lacked for companionship. One by one the lairds paid her a visit, each one putting his characteristic spin on the tour of the village. Niall, ever the soldier, told her about his father's house, where he lived, and how his father had fought for clan and king in the old days. Ross fetched his pipes and skirled a lively melody for her, scaring the chickens into the underbrush and chasing the birds out of the trees. The Bruce came and rested himself on a tree stump, managing to transform the old wood into a throne from which he issued royal commands to the men at work on his roof. Liam bent her ear with a detailed account of all the geologic and botanical wonders of the place, confiding, out of hearing of the others, that he personally was working on a radical new theory that the earth was, in fact, spinning around and around even as they spoke.
Dugan tramped up after a long session of hoisting rocks to the roof by ladder. He carried a well-worn leather bag with him and, to Julia's complete astonishment, pulled out two wooden knitting needles and a ball of rough yarn. He sat and conversed, in as few syllables as possible, about the weather and the animals, all the while knitting a meticulous, even piece of woolen that looked capable of resisting even the chilliest winds.
Tommy came last of all, gamboling over the green like Big Dog, his energy, as usual, as boundless as only a teenager's can be, Julia thought. He dragged her to her feet and ushered her about the house that he was building, pointing with pride to every beam and post and stone laid there by his own hands.
"It's beautiful, Tommy," Julia said. "I can't believe you're building a house all by yourself at your age."
The lad puffed up with pride. "I'm no' so young. I'm eighteen. Or will be, this summer. And when I marry" He broke off suddenly.
Ah, thought Julia. Aloud she said, "And when you marry . . .?"
"When I do marry. I don't know who," the boy stammered. "I don't know any maids here and the next village is the Moreston's and beyond that it's a long walk, as far as Loch Rannoch, nearly, before ye come to any . . . girls. . . ." He grinned. "But when I do marry, I'll have a bonny, snug house, wi' a real fireplace like Darach's, for a wife and bairns."
"You will indeed."
"Will ye be marryin' our Darach?"
Julia's jaw dropped. "Will I be what?"
"Will ye be"
"Never mind, I heard you." She raised her hands to the sky that peeped in through the roof beams. "Darach! Darach! What is it with you guys that all you can talk about is Darach? I don't go around talking about the mayor of New York City!"
"Ye're goin' to be marryin' him, this mayor?"
Julia looked at the young man and sighed. He was absolutely in earnest. And he was clueless. For that matter, she thought, he wasn't the only one.
"No, Tom. I don't think I'll be marrying the mayor of New York. Or your Darach."
"Why not? I think you'd make our chief a fine, fine wife, wee Julia. If I was Darach, I'd"
"Thomas!"
Alasdair vaulted in from the window hole. "That'll do, youngling."
"But don't ye think, Alasdair, that Julia and our Darach"
"No' another word."
Tommy's face fell and then he shrugged. "I guess ye auld folk don't think much about love and all that. Hope I'm not like that when I'm your age."
Alasdair made a playful jab at the boy. "Your time is comin'dinna ye hasten the inevitable. Get along and start laying fires and heating water in the kitchen. Get yer mind off love and . . . other matters. Julia will be wantin' to get a meal goin' before midnight."
Tommy left the way Alasdair came in and Julia couldn't help laughing. "He's exactly the way I was when I was seventeen," she said. "I couldn't wait to get out into the world and try everything on for size." She gestured around the house. "Though he's way ahead of me, I'd say. I certainly didn't have the skill or the wherewithal to build my own house when I was his age."
"Tom's a good lad. He'll make a fine man, if he doesn't lose his head in some mischief first." Alasdair cocked his head to one side. "Don't take his prattlin' about love and Darach too seriously, Julia. They're all sae rolaisteach at that age. It's the curse of the MacStruans."
Her eyebrows shot up. "Are you serious? You and Darach were once hopeless romantics?" A shiver shot down her spine. She knew the word. She knew the word! How could that be? It was as if there was some magic about this place that was slowly, inexorably making her one of them.
"Oh, aye," he said, oblivious to her reaction. "Ye should've seen Darach at court when he was fostered in Edinburgh. Da nearly had to go fetch him home in disgrace for his ways with the ladie
s."
Julia was amazed and elated at this bit of news, though a twinge of jealousy tempered those feelings. So Darach MacStruan was human after all. Or at least he used to be. "What happened after that?"
Alasdair thought for a moment. "He settled down, I suppose. Da was always good at puttin' the fear o' God into us, one way or another."
"And did he give up the ladies?"
He gave her a shrewd glance. "Nay." She had to grin. "You're a loyal brother, Alasdair."
"I should hope so. Darach's a right pain in the arse often enough, but we share blood."
"It must be nice to be so sure of your family."
"Sometimes it's all there is between ye and the wolves."
She gazed at the floor, suddenly feeling more foreign than ever in this foreign place. "Would you consider me a wolf?" she asked.
She felt his hand beneath her chin. He lifted her face until she met his eyes. They were filled with friendly concern. "Don't tell me. He's been holdin' ye off by claimin' that ye're a witch still."
"I don't know about holding me off. But he thinks I'm the enemy, I know that. Even if I'm not a witch, he's made it clear I'm an outsider and not to be trusted."
Alasdair took her arm and drew it through his. He led her toward the doorway. "Dinna ye worry, lass. Darach's cautious, is all. Wi' everything."
"Cautious? He's downright paranoid where I'm concerned."
"Paranoid?"
They stepped out into the sunlight. "Yes. He treats me like I'm going to plant a bomb in the middle of the green and blow all of you to kingdom come."
Alasdair laughed. "I can see him thinkin' that. He's like an auld hen, my brothair. When it comes to his ain folk, he fair clucks with protectiveness." Julia grinned up at him. "Now that's an image I would never have come up with in regard to Darach."
"Watch. He's comin' now, thunder ridin' his back and lightnin' in his eyes. But mark ye, he's watchin' the nest."
She looked and there, indeed, was Darach, bearing down on them, his face dark as a storm. He was issuing orders before he came to a stop. Julia had to work hard to conceal the smile as she thought of Alasdair's description.
"Niall needs help wi' the last o' the stanes," he said to Alasdair. "That is, if ye can spare a moment."
"At your service, my liege," Alasdair drawled, and sauntered off.
"Tommy's in the kitchen. No doubt the water's heated by this time. The men are hungry."
She gave him a radiant smile. "All right," she said, mimicking Alasdair's saunter. "My lord."
He caught her arm. "If I were indeed your lord, ye'd know it."
She gazed up at him, still smiling. "Is that the fatal charm that won the ladies' hearts in Edinburgh?"
"What's my brothair been tellin' ye?"
"Enough to know that you aren't as rough and tough as you pretend to be."
He pulled her closer. "Ye think not?" His tone was low and distinctly threatening.
She swallowed but kept her smile. "I think you're a fake, that's what I think. You talk tough but inside you're a bowl of mush. You act like you don't care about anyone or anything but you're as susceptible to love as the next man."
"And ye think I was in love wi' the ladies at court?"
She nodded. His eyes had grown so dark and wild. She could almost feel the intensity of his feelings rolling off of him.
He jerked her quickly into his arms, pinning her against the rough wool of his plaid. Without another word, he bent his head and kissed her.
Julia felt as if she were being dipped into flames. The rough magic of his lips heated and tormented her, rousing a sudden fever that seemed to originate in the marrow of her bones. His hands slid down her back, pressing her against him, allowing her to feel his strength and power, his own heat. The kiss went on and on, teasing, tempting, drawing a soft moan from deep in her throat. She felt as if her legs would no longer hold her.
As suddenly as his embrace had begun, he ended it. He set her away from him and looked at her with a cool smile.
"And was that love, Julia?" he asked, his voice rumbling from deep in his chest. "Twa bodies bangin' against one another? Is that what passes for love where ye come from?"
He turned abruptly and was gone.
"Damn it," she muttered. "He did it again."
When her knees at last agreed to work properly, she hastened to the kitchen and began cooking with a fury that was only matched by the storm that was raging inside of her. Tommy watched her, but wisely kept quiet, especially after they heard Darach slam through the front door and stomp upstairs to his chamber.
It was a very quiet meal.
The next morning, Darach and the men went off to bring more of the cattle down from the hills, leaving Julia at home with the Bruce. She was grateful for the older man's easygoing presence and the fun of playing along with his pretensions to royalty. It had been another uneasy night for her, what with wondering if the mirror was going to talk to her again, the whys and wherefores of time travel, and trying not to think about Darach's hot, angry kiss.
Bruce accompanied her to the garden, where a light mist was falling, interrupted now and then by bursts of golden sunlight. He sat on a rock and related many stories of the lands around the MacStruan clachan, and the people who had struggled and worked and played and died for the love of the land.
As she listened and worked, Julia could imagine men and women coming and going, driving cattle past the spot where this garden now stood, young people meeting at the legendary dancing places, children racing after the wild birds and rabbits. Despite the bloodshed and suffering she knew were substantial parts of their lives, she couldn't help thinking of how they'd banded together in clans, combining their fortunes as one family.
"Your Majesty," she asked after Bruce had fallen silent for a few moments, ''are the clans today the same as in the old days, when they first began?"
Bruce pondered her question. "I'd have to say the clans are no' as they were even when I was a chiel. But clans are still important, especially here in th' Highlands. It's how most of us still live, though I know some in the cities keep to their ain selves."
There was another question that had been on her mind for some time. "I thought clans were large groups of people who'd pledged allegiance to one chief," she said. "But Clan MacStruan is small, more like one family. Why aren't there more of you?"
He regarded her cannily. "What might ye mean?"
"I mean why are there so few MacStruans? Darach has told me that the Morestons have far more people in their clan."
"Weel, it's no' a cheerful story, lass."
"I don't mind."
"There was once nigh as many MacStruans as Morestons. But where the Morestons gathered forces by conquerin' or forcin' allegiances wi' other clans, the MacStruans have always gone their ain way. Then, o' course, time and bad times take their toll. War. Famine. Sickness. The MacStruan chiefs have held their line, but the clan's diminished these last twa or three generations."
"Darach says the Morestons have killed a lot of your clan." "Aye. And taken land from us, in one way and another. There's only so many people a piece o' land can support. Some of our kin left for other parts o' Scotland and even England, sad to say." He gave her a rueful smile. "I never thought the day would come when there'd be this few clansmen on this land. I've hopes for our Darach, though. And Alasdair, as well. The twa o' them could give us a brace o' bairns, if they'd just decide upon it." He shot her a sharp look. ''Which o' them do ye ken will choose a wife first?"
She shook her head, avoiding his keen old eyes. "I wouldn't know. I think it all depends on whether or not they kill one another first."
He chuckled. "Ye have the right o' it, lass. They're like two cats in a sack, some days. But ye can depend upon it, no outsider had better come between 'em. They'll close ranks sae quick the manor womanwillna have time to draw the next breath."
"I know. Darach's made it pretty clear what he thinks of outlanders like me."
"Has he?"
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"Yes. Clan comes first, last, and in between with him."
"Ye mustn't take it too hard, wee Julia. It's just our way."
"I know. Never mind." She got up, brushing off her skirt. "I'm beginning to know what Harrison Ford must have felt like."
"Who's that?" His face was a cheerful blank.
"Of course, you wouldn't know. How can I explain? You see, Harrison Ford was in this movie, Witness, where he gets wounded in a murder investigation and he runs away to this farm with this beautiful Amish woman." She knelt down and began to weed the shallots. "He lived with them, worked with them, ate with them, slept in their beds, even wore their clothes, but anytime he tried to get close to one of them or questioned their way of life, they'd tell him he couldn't understand because he was an outsider. That's how I feel here."
"And ye believe we're Amish?"
She grinned. "No."
"Hmm." He gave her a puzzled smile. "Are ye runnin' frae a murder, wee Julia?"
Chapter Thirteen
Her head snapped up at his words. "What makes you say that?"
"This Harrison Ford fella. He was wounded in a murder, ye said. And ye say ye feel as he did. Are ye runnin' frae a murder as well?"
"Oh, boy." Julia buried her face amid the foliage. She'd accidentally given herself away. Just as she was beginning to win some of the clan's trust, here came a new suspicion for them to hold against her.
She decided that when life hands you lemons, make a sorbet. She moved closer to where the Bruce was seated. "That was just a movie, Your Highness. But it was a great story. You'd like it, I think."
"Aye? Well, tell it, lass. Ye know I love a good tale." So as she worked, she related the plot of the movie in as much detail as she could recall. Bruce listened, a look of rapt fascination on his weathered face. When she came to the climax of the movie, with the shoot-out in the dairy barn, he thumped his staff with approval. "That Ford is as canny as any Highland reiver!" he exclaimed.
She grinned and stood up. Wiping her hands on her apron, she nodded toward the house. "Glad you liked it. I'd best get some food started. Would you deign to aid me in the kitchen, Your Highness?"
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