"Robert, you're dumb as a cow's rear end and twice as ugly," one of the young men slurred, slamming a fist on the table. The floppy-haired, blue-eyed young man seemed to be their leader, or something like it — the others seemed to defer to him, listening closely when he spoke. "It's your stupid fault —"
"It's got nothing to do with me, Danny." The one he'd called Robert looked taller than his friend, with a lanky frame and dark hair. "You poxy git —"
"I'm not the poxy one. It's those poxy damn milkmaids —"
"And whose idea was it to follow 'em?"
In that unpleasant way that young men had of escalating situations, the two of them were suddenly on their feet, squaring off in the bar. Karen found herself rising to her feet and moving toward the scene, sensing a fight about to break out — sure enough, Danny shoved Robert hard in the chest, sending the taller young man staggering back with a surprised yelp. As he raised his hands, Karen's eyes narrowed. There was something wrong — red lesions covered his hands, maybe four or five of them, red and weeping. She wrinkled her nose at the sight of them but was quickly distracted by the scuffle that broke out. Thomas was there immediately, shouting over the jeers of the other young men that the pack of them could behave themselves or get out.
"Careful," Karen said quickly, grabbing him by the shoulder as he went to intervene physically in the scrap. "Those lesions on their hands look unpleasant."
But the young men had broken apart, their attention caught by something else — and as the leader's piggy little eyes fell on her, Karen realized with a sinking feeling in her chest that she was the next distraction. Great. She'd been in town for all of two hours and she was already getting unwelcome attention from the town's local drunks.
"And who's this uppity bitch, then?"
"You should leave," Karen said levelly. "Those sores on your hands need cleaning."
The group of young men tittered, and Danny's eyes narrowed — but he shoved his hands into the pockets of the trousers he was wearing, clearly a little self-conscious about them. "Mind your own business, slag," he snarled, "or I'll tear a piece off you."
She opened her mouth to respond, stunned and angry — but before she could, the slam of the door pulled her attention that way. There stood Connor, a look of radiant anger on his face and his hand on the weapon at his hip. From the looks on the young men's faces, this was more than they were willing to deal with just now — they slid out of their seats and melted away toward the exit of the pub, though Danny shot a lingering, ugly look at her over his shoulder as he left.
"Those bloody troublemakers again?" Connor asked Thomas, heading over to join them once he'd seen the group of young men out of the pub. Karen couldn't help but notice the way the two young women at the bar watched them leave — a mixture of apprehension and keen interest on their faces. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. There was no accounting for taste, it seemed. Still… it had been rather pleasing to see Connor in action. The way the young lads had melted before his stern countenance… she fought the blush that was threatening to rise to her cheeks.
"Who are they?" she wanted to know, looking up at Thomas and Connor, who were exchanging identical looks of vexation.
"Danny's little band of idiots," Connor said with a roll of his eyes. "They've been causing trouble since they were kids."
"They're all herdsmen," Thomas explained with a roll of his eyes. "Usually they limit themselves to bullying the milkmaids, who are at least used to their nonsense by now, but they've taken to causing trouble here, too."
But Karen wasn't worried about the young men getting drunk at lunch time. She was worried about the sores on their hands. She had an awful feeling she knew what they were.
Chapter 6
Once it was clear that the young men had been well and truly banished, Thomas showed Connor and Karen over to a table by the window, clearly grateful that the watchman had sent away the troublesome clientele. Where had they gone? Karen wondered. She wouldn't have minded getting a closer look at the lesions on their hands... but she tried to shift her mind away from that when Thomas returned with two steaming bowls of stew for her and Connor. It wouldn't do losing her appetite — not when she was about to have lunch with one of the most gorgeous men that she'd ever met…
"Sorry you had to run into those louts so early," Connor said with a grimace, clearly still thinking about the young men. "Most of the village folk aren't quite such bad company, I promise."
"I'm mostly worried about those wounds on their hands," she said, frowning a little. "Do you know if there's an illness going about?"
He looked surprised… and a little worried. "Aye, now you mention it — the herds have been struck with an illness lately, and it's made the leap to a few of the milkmaids. I heard them grumbling about the sores on their hands last week."
"Interesting," she said softly. She could remember reading about cowpox when she was just a little girl, well before any of her medical training — she'd been fascinated by how the disease, related to the much deadlier smallpox as it was, actually brought about immunity to smallpox as a side effect of having had it. Vaccinations owed their origins to the simple disease — the word itself was related to the Latin for 'of the cow'. But it wasn't exactly a pleasant illness… and from the looks of those lesions, poorly cared for as they had been, it would be quite likely to spread. "Do they know how to stop it spreading?"
"I'm not sure they'd care if they did." Connor shrugged his shoulders. "You met them. They're not exactly considerate young men."
"It's not a pleasant disease. Still, they should be grateful to get it," she shrugged.
"Why's that?"
"The immunity to smallpox, for a start."
His eyes widened, and she bit her lip, remembering at the last second what time period they were in and feeling an odd little wave of dizziness at how mundane that realization had felt — was she really accepting that she'd traveled through time to get here? What if she did some kind of damage to history by sharing medical knowledge that was too advanced? Wasn't that what a time paradox was?
"What do you mean?"
"The diseases are closely related," she explained. She'd never been able to resist talking about diseases with anyone — they were fascinating, and besides, she was rather enjoying the thrill of having Connor's close, fascinated attention. "So, once you've had cowpox, your immune system is equipped to deal with smallpox as well." She hesitated at the blank expression on his face. "Your immune system is… well, your body's got ways of fighting off diseases. We call those ways the immune system."
He still looked nonplussed.
"Think of it like… training. If you've never fought someone with a sword before, that person is likely to hurt you. But if you practice against someone with a sword…"
"Then you'll do better against someone with a dagger," Connor said, his eyes widening. "You're saying the human body works like that?"
"Something like that," she said, not wanting to mislead him. "I mean, that's a big oversimplification, but…"
"You'd better meet Kay, I think," Connor said thoughtfully as he finished his stew, gazing at her over the table.
She nibbled at her own bread roll — it was difficult to eat when her stomach was already so full of butterflies. Those gray eyes were so breathtaking… "Who's Kay?"
"You'll like her. She speaks like you do," he said with a grin. "Like she's constantly translating something complex into language we peasants of the past will understand."
"I'm not —"
"It's alright," he said warmly, and she blushed, embarrassed that he'd found her lecture condescending. "I don't doubt you know a great deal that's a mystery to the folk around here. And I'm looking forward to hearing more of it."
She shook herself a little, only just catching up with what he was trying to tell her. "Wait — so you're saying this Kay is from the — from my time? From the future?"
"That's right," he said with a smile. "She arrived, oh, a year or so back, thr
ough the Burgh, same as you. My cousin fell head over heels for her and that was the end of it. They're wed, now."
Her eyes widened. The idea of traveling back in time to this strange place… and then not only settling in, but even marrying one of the locals? It was ridiculous… unthinkable… and yet, she couldn't help but let a small part of her imagination steal away to a little cottage where she'd bake things and Connor would come home to her at the end of the day… she shook her head, a little annoyed with how ridiculous the fantasy was. There was no way she was even entertaining the possibility. She had no idea what it was like to live with a man from her own time — let alone this medieval place she'd found herself in. Hell, she wasn't even fully convinced it wasn't a dream. Still… some part of her still wondered what it might be like. She loved her career and was incredibly proud of everything she'd worked to achieve, but romance… that was something she'd never quite excelled at, was it?
"Anyway, I think you'd like her." Connor shrugged, and she realized with a start she'd been ignoring him. "She'll be coming down tomorrow afternoon to check on the herds — she's something of an animal expert, from what I understand. Some kind of specialist in your time."
"Is she — was she a vet?"
"Aye, I think that's what she calls it."
She found herself looking forward to meeting this woman more than she'd expected. It wasn't long before Connor had to excuse himself and return to his patrols — she watched him go with a smile, then headed upstairs to her room. The bread and stew had been warm and delicious, and though her body felt healthy and fever-free, she was oddly tired. Probably all the stress of waking up in a brand new country and era, she thought with an odd little laugh that ripped itself free of her before she could silence it. Was she really just going to … believe this? She peered out of her window, where the placid waters of the Loch were glinting in the afternoon sunlight. That sure was a lake, alright. But Loch Ness? The sixteenth century?
What other explanation was there, though? She'd always been a rational woman who believe in the evidence of her own eyes… and the evidence overwhelmingly supported Connor's claims about when and where she was, no matter how absurd it may seem. There was more investigation to be done, that was for sure… but for the time being, what was the point of refusing to believe what she was seeing?
This was medieval Scotland. And she was just going to have to make the best of that.
Chapter 7
She spent the afternoon by herself in her room, gazing out the window and watching the afternoon go by. It felt nice, just sitting by a window and letting the time go by… especially compared to her usually hectic schedule. But the fatigue got stronger and stronger, and it wasn't long before Karen decided to treat herself to something that she hadn't had time for since well before med school… an afternoon nap.
Feeling oddly like a criminal, she crept over to the little bed and pulled back the covers, tucked herself in, and shivered a little as her body heat began to warm the cozy bed. It wasn't long before her eyelids were sliding shut and she drifted into a deep, restless sleep. She woke up an hour or two later, feeling a little disoriented. She'd been half expecting to wake up in the hospital again, surrounded by quietly beeping machines, feverish and horribly unwell again… but no, the only thing wrong with her was a bit of sleep in her eyes and a slight crick in her neck from the way she'd settled her head against the pillow.
She dozed on for a little while, pleasantly warm in the little bed, letting her mind wander. After a long period of being unwell, it felt unbelievably good to be feeling whole and hearty again. But it wasn't long before darkness crept into the room, and she sat up with a frown, realizing she could hardly see. And it wasn't like there was going to be a light switch to flip, was there?
Frowning, she got up and pulled her woolen sweater back on over her head before padding down the hallway in her too-big boots and making her way down the stairs. It was early evening and the bar was already beginning to fill up with various townspeople, some of whom she remembered from earlier in the day, some of whom it seemed had only just arrived. To her great dismay, she saw the group of young men from earlier sitting at the table they'd been sitting at when she'd met them, and she gritted her teeth, hoping they hadn't seen her. They were deep in conversation amongst each other — and she noticed to her satisfaction that Danny, the leader, had wrapped his hands in bandages. Good. At least she'd achieved something with that little conflict. She only hoped it wasn't too late to stop him from spreading it to his friends… but she had an unfortunate suspicion that wherever he'd caught the disease, they had been, too…
The barmaid who'd been there earlier was still working, and Karen gave her a smile as she bustled past. To her surprise, the woman returned presently with a flagon of ale for her — she bit her lip, about to explain that she hadn't meant to order it, but the barmaid's eyes had flicked over to the men in the corner and there was a look of worry on her face that stilled Karen's objections immediately.
"Those lads," she said softly, in that thick accent that Karen still wasn't quite used to, as charming as she found it. "They were talking earlier about you."
"They were?" She was surprised to have made such an impression.
"Aye. They've figured out you must be new in town, and that you're staying here at the inn. They've been trying to figure out ways of getting upstairs. Getting into your room tonight."
A chill ran down her spine as she stared across the busy bar at the young men, all of whom now seemed distinctly more menacing. Telling them off the way she had earlier, had felt fine in the light of day… but the idea of confronting them in her room, late at night, with nobody else around to protect her… that, she didn't like.
"Do the rooms lock?" she asked, trying to think back to the room. It seemed an odd thing to have forgotten… but she had a lot on her mind. The barmaid shook her head, wiping diligently at the table that Karen was sitting at as a cover for her continued presence.
"No. But I'd not go to bed alone if I were you."
Karen's eyes widened. "What do you mean?"
The barmaid's eyes twinkled as she looked up at her. "Saw you getting cozy with our Connor Grant earlier. Caught the looks you two were exchanging. I daresay he'd help you…"
"What! No — we just — we're not — that's not —"
The barmaid giggled, a pleasant sound. "It's alright, lass," she said with a grin. "Though I'll warn you he's somewhat popular among the ladies around here. Don't go giving him your heart right away, or he's liable to break it. Not out of malice, though. He's a good soul — and Lord knows his family's been trying to get him to settle down for years now." She smiled, her eyes still dancing. "But you didn't hear it from me. I've said too much," she added, scooping up her cloth. "You enjoy your ale."
"I don't have any money," she said plaintively. "I'll have to pay you back —"
"On the house," the woman said, waving a hand dismissively. "The drink and the warning. We women have to look out for each other in this world, hmm?"
Karen nodded. With that, the barmaid was gone, and she smiled to herself as she sipped at the ale, which was thick and rich and utterly delicious — even though she'd never been much of a beer person, she felt she could definitely come around to it.
But what was she going to do about the young men who intended to come up to her room in the night? She couldn't just let them, that was for sure. Should she alert Thomas to their schemes? What could he do about it? And hadn't he been kind enough to her already, putting her up free of charge, feeding her, and clothing her, and refusing to consider payment from her? She bit her lip… and just as she was losing herself in worry, she heard the door thunk open and in came Connor in that familiar kilt, his gray eyes scanning the room… and lighting up when they fell on her. He started heading over, and the thought that he'd actually been looking for her made her blush.
"How are you settling in?" he asked with a smile once he'd taken the seat opposite her. She sipped her ale to hide
the butterflies fluttering in her stomach.
"Better than I'd expected, honestly. It's… it's such a bizarre thing to think about, but… I mean, it's pretty obviously true, right? And if — time travel is possible, then I guess magic is possible, so I guess… I was wrong about a bunch of stuff." She shrugged her shoulders. "Science is all about knowing when you're wrong. But —" She hesitated, her eyes flicking over to the young men by the door, who were getting steadily more drunk as the evening wore on. "The barmaid told me… Danny and his friends were trying to get up to the rooms upstairs. Thinking about —"
"They wouldn't dare," Connor growled, his eyes narrowing with vexation. "I'm not surprised they were making daft threats, though. Pack of utter lay-abouts. I've been asking around," he added with a shrug. "Talking to the herdsmen they're supposed to be working for. It seems that since the sickness has swept through the herds, they've been using the illness as an excuse to slack off work. And you know what they say about idle hands."
"I just wish there was a lock on my room," Karen said with a shudder. "Or, failing that, a knife under my pillow."
Connor chuckled… but his eyes were thoughtful. "Well, I can arrange a knife for you," he said thoughtfully. "And a lock. But as for tonight… why don't I do you one better?"
A flash of what the barmaid had said came back to her and she froze, hardly daring to believe what she'd heard. Could he mean — surely not. Surely not.
Unless…?
Chapter 8
But in the end, to her secret dismay, Connor didn't end up sharing her bed that evening — and probably for the best, she thought. What would he think of her, sleeping with someone she'd just met? What would the villagers say about her? No — when they'd finished their meal, Connor took her upstairs and informed her that he'd be sleeping outside her room that night. She'd tried to argue with him, but he'd insisted — said it was part of his duty as a man of the Watch. And so, feeling equal parts grateful and embarrassed, Karen had bid her new friend good-night, then closed herself away in her room to get some sleep.
Troubled By The Highlander: A Scottish Time Travel Romance (Highlander Forever Book 6) Page 3