Sexy Scot (Highlander's Through Time Book 2)

by Cecelia Mecca

  An assumption Greyson knew was quite a leap.

  “You will,” he said, more confidently than he felt. “Once we find my mother, she can tell you, us, about the adjustment.”

  Just imagining his mother being transported, alone, from this place and time to New Orleans . . . he shut the thought from his mind. It was too horrible to consider. He and Rhys had at least known what they were getting themselves into. Even if they had not quite believed it.

  “Do you think—”

  A knock at their door interrupted her.

  Marian bolted up, likely sharing his thought: Ross was due back any day. When she opened the door, a chambermaid stood there.

  “Pardon, my lady. But a guest has arrived. Master Ross wishes to speak with you both.”

  Marian thanked her and shut the door. Before he could say a word, she put her goblet down and started dressing, the undertunic and kirtle she’d worn the day they met on in no time.

  With luck, he’d be able to take it back off just as quickly.

  When they were both ready, Marian pulled the iron handle on the door, but Greyson stopped her.

  “No matter what he says, know we are in this together. Wife.”

  Greyson drew his brows together in mock concentration. She’d explained the difference between a medieval man and a caveman, of course, but he still liked to tease her.

  Marian stood on her toes, kissed him, and then pulled open the door.

  “Aye, husband. I know as much.”

  He smiled all the way to the hall, but his smile fled the moment he saw Ross’s face. The cavernous space was empty except for Ross and a handful of servants, bathed in an eerie glow from only a half dozen wall torches. The sight sent a rash of goose bumps along Greyson’s arms.

  How easy it was to forget, this was no bed-and-breakfast.

  Their honeymoon had come at the expense of breaking a marriage agreement between two earls. Something, he’d come to learn, that was not so easily done.

  Insomuch as Greyson had ever thought of earls prior to coming here, he’d thought they were a little like knights, that they were pretty much everywhere. Not so, he’d learned. With less than two dozen in each country, the power of a man like Marian’s father put his own family’s influence to shame.

  “Ross,” he said, sitting across from him at the trestle table.

  A servant had brought his uncle a bowl of stew and a tankard of ale. The man offered to bring them refreshment as well, but Greyson sent him away as Marian settled on the bench.

  “Where’s Alban?”

  “Stables.”

  Greyson moved Marian’s hand to his leg and covered it with his own—a silent assurance that they would overcome this. Whatever this was.

  “What news?”

  Ross finished chewing, but the servant returned with a cloth before he could speak. Another medieval misconception. More people used handkerchiefs in this time than his own.

  Greyson and Marian exchanged a somewhat frustrated glance. He was trying to conceal his worry, but he doubted he was succeeding. Had he ever felt this wound up in a board meeting?

  Ross grunted, then said, “Your betrothed is even more of an arse than rumored.”

  “Former betrothed,” Greyson pointed out.

  “You met him?” Marian asked. “What did his father say?”

  The servant had finally moved away. When Ross leaned forward, as if about to relate a secret, Greyson caught the flash of defiance in his eyes. It was a look he’d seen often enough on his mother.

  “All is well.” Greyson said it unthinkingly, but he felt sure of it.

  Though he could have dispelled their concerns earlier, Ross finally smiled. “Aye.”

  His shoulders sagged with relief. “What’s with the dramatics?”

  Ross and Marian gave him that look.

  “Why not say so earlier?” he tried again. “And why do you look like you’re about to murder someone?”

  His uncle, the Viking, grunted.

  “The food in Pittillock is shite. We stayed on the road on our return.” He took another bite of stew.

  Apparently being hangry was another trait his uncle and his mother had in common.

  “The earl took my dowry?” Marian shifted even closer to him. He could feel her body heat, could sense her unease. Rubbing his hand across her thigh, he waited for his uncle’s response.

  “He did. And was none too pleased at the prospect of being manipulated by your father. You’re a lucky lass to be rid of such a man.”

  Marian tensed.

  Her father was not a good man, or at least he hadn’t been one to her. But still, he was the only parent she’d ever known, and she’d always been reluctant to speak out against him. Greyson tried to understand, but since he wanted nothing more than to punch the asshole in the face, he had a hard time reconciling her conflicted feelings toward him.

  So instead, he remained silent, not feeling the need to give an unsolicited opinion.

  “He believed you, then?” she asked.

  Ross frowned. Clearly it hadn’t been as easy as that.

  “After a bit of blustering, aye, he believed me. It seems, though ill-timed, Bruce’s invasion of Balliol served as a reminder to all. The Maid of Norway is but a babe. The Guardians, Fife included, have their doubts about the stability of the current arrangement. Even as an ally to Bruce, Fife admitted the man was sending a clear signal to King Edward. Bruce will do what is necessary to defeat his rivals.”

  “So he agreed King Edward is positioning himself for the throne?”

  Ross shook his head. “Only the three of us know that to be true. With Greyson’s perspective, ’tis easy to see. But there is enough mistrust of the English king on this side of the border that even a hint of his treachery is enough to turn the tide. I could not ascertain for certain his complicity in balancing his Scottish and English interests, but I assured him the king was looking for a way to gain influence, if not control.”

  It seemed too easy.

  “And the gold helped matters. Apparently Fife cares more about filling his coffers than he does about gaining a questionable ally.”

  Ross downed the rest of his ale in one swig.

  “He blustered until I offered him the coin.”

  “So ’tis done?”

  Brodie walked into the hall then. It was too bad he hadn’t been with Ross from the start. Unlike his usually surly uncle, Brodie smiled like a man who had just returned from averting a crisis. One look at him would have reassured them of the outcome.

  “’Tis done,” Ross agreed. “And now, my boy.” He slammed the table so hard an observer might think him angry, but Greyson knew the Viking better now. “We go home.”

  30

  Ross helped her dismount, the break a much needed one. After five days in the saddle with little rest, Marian had begun to feel the effects.

  “No tarrying,” Ross called to them as they left the side of the road to find a private spot for her. If time travel was possible, perhaps reincarnation was also real. If so, she wondered what it might be like to return as a man. No need to scour the woods looking for a place to squat.

  “What are you smiling about?”

  She found a spot and hurried ahead. “Just wondering what it might be like to be a man,” she said, indicating for Grey to stay behind the bush. How odd that she should still feel so shy with him. In the past days, she’d laid everything bare to him. Her body, most especially.

  Marian grinned, thinking about the nights since their wedding. Grey had promised to be a dutiful, and thorough, instructor. And he had indeed. She finished, righted her kirtle, and returned to her husband.

  “Have you ever wondered what it would be like to be a woman?”

  She thought to make their way back to the others, but apparently Grey had other plans. He pulled her toward him, his kiss unhurried. She returned the affection gladly, meeting each thrust of his tongue and forgetting everything but the two of them for a moment.

 
Grey’s groan reminded her the kiss would go no further. Not now. But he didn’t let her go just yet.

  “God, no. And have to wipe myself with a leaf, hoping it’s not poison ivy?” His eyes widened. “Do you have poison ivy here?”

  She shook her head. “Poison ivy?”

  “A plant. Makes you itchy and blistery.”

  That did indeed sound unpleasant.

  “Before they tore it out, my brother Reikart fell into an ivy plant one night in Larkin Park. We live in a place called Algiers Point, just across the river from our office and the rest of the family in the Quarter.”

  “The French Quarter?”

  “Yep, you’ve got it. By the time we get back it’ll be like you know the place already.”

  A sliver of foreboding tugged at her, as it always did during these types of discussions, but she shoved it away. She liked his optimism. She truly wanted to believe it would be that easy.

  “You’re worried.” Still holding her, Grey didn’t seem inclined to let go. And Marian wasn’t going to be the one to do it. She could happily stand here, with him, all day.

  “What if—”

  “Nope. Not gonna do it. We have to stay positive. Think only good thoughts.”

  “But is that not courting disaster?” she asked, speaking words that had been spoken to her more than once, mostly by her father. “Certainly not all those good thoughts will end in good outcomes.”

  “If they don’t, we’ll deal with them then.” Grey pointed to her head. “Wait until you learn about neurology. Brain science has always fascinated me.”

  “Neurology?” The word felt awkward on her lips.

  “The study of the brain. For instance, they’ve learned positive thinking actually improves your ability to think and analyze. Which means you can affect your own outcomes sometimes by the way you think about a challenge.”

  Sometimes it was truly difficult to grasp the concepts Grey attempted to explain. Neurology. How could one go about studying the brain without killing the subject?

  “So, the day we met. I may not have hidden in the woods, crippled by indecision, had I believed I could get away?”

  Grey smiled. “Perhaps. But then I wouldn’t have had the chance to hold you.”

  “That day we stood in the woods, you held me as a stranger. Today, you do so as my husband.” A word she still liked repeating, much like she enjoyed being called his wife.

  “One who values his life, which Ross will likely take if we don’t return soon.”

  She’d been thinking the same thing. Reluctantly, after one more quick kiss, Grey dropped his arms, taking her hand instead. As predicted, Ross was not particularly happy about their delay.

  “It was quicker traveling with a cart horse than a couple newly married.”

  “Is he always such a cranky old man?” Grey asked Alban, who’d mounted just next to them.

  “Ye know the answer to that already.”

  The others laughed, all except for Ross himself.

  The exchange, though of no particular import, was one Marian continued to consider as they rode the final leg of their journey.

  Grey had obviously formed a tight bond with his uncle. His clan. Would he find it hard to leave them? Even Marian would miss the men who had quickly become like family to her. What Ross had done, the risk he had taken for them . . . she could never hope to repay him. Marian would try by offering him the largest jewel she’d taken from her trunk, an enormous ruby that was rumored to have been given to her grandfather by the King of France.

  Getting the stubborn man to take it would be another challenge, but Marian was determined.

  “There it is,” Ross said some time later, pointing at an edifice in the distance.

  The sun had set not long before, leaving enough light to clearly illuminate the outline of Castle Hightower. The name, apt. It rose before them, surrounded by rolling hills, a majestic beacon for their weary group. She glanced at Grey.

  He stared up at it, mouth open, as if this were his first day in the past. Marian herself shivered at his expression.

  Would his mother be there? What about his brother? Marian had prayed many times for it to be so, and now it seemed they would learn if her prayers would be answered.

  His mother’s home.

  Castle Hightower was built in 1201 by the first laird of the MacKinnish clan. The castle is best known as one of the places Robert the Bruce was hidden when he was first crowned king of Scotland and King Edward of England was hunting him. It is said that Castle Hightower burned to the ground in 1306, and that the MacKinnish laird was hanged for his part in aiding Robert the Bruce.

  It was something Rhys had read to him sometime in his last feverish days in his own time. How the hell had he forgotten? It was as if the words had soaked into his brain without surfacing until this moment.

  The laird and his son. His mother must know too. She’d have done the research.

  Was it Ross? Another of his uncles he’d not yet met?

  Greyson took a deep breath.

  Rising from the earth, three towers surrounded by lush countryside that would make the family gardener weep, Castle Hightower stood before them. As they approached, a horn blew to announce their arrival.

  He’d never seen anything more beautiful, save Marian’s face next to him as he woke up each morning. Fanciful, his brothers had always called him, and maybe he was, but this looked like something from a fantasy movie. The fact that his aunt Grace apparently had fae friends only added to the image.

  Heart hammering as they approached the courtyard filled with people, he felt as if he were returning home after a long journey. The feeling was so strong he could be pulling onto St. Charles Avenue.

  And then he saw her.

  Greyson could no more stop his reaction than he could have stopped loving Marian just because she was promised to another. Tears flowed for the first time since he’d seen his father lying in that hospital room. Which had only been the second time he could recall crying as an adult.

  The first had been when this beautiful, radiant woman had disappeared from his life.

  “Grey!”

  Cheeks streaked with tears, just as his were, Greyson’s mother, appearing just as she had when she disappeared five years ago, enveloped him. Her arms were like a winter jacket on a frigid day in the north.

  The American north. Lord knew what winter was like here in Scotland.

  “Son,” she whispered into his ear, her tears wet against his cheek. “I love you. I missed you so much.”

  “You’re alive. Oh my God, Mom. You’re here.”

  He tried not to let anyone else hear him. Greyson had no idea who knew, and who did not.

  He was mumbling, making no sense. How would they explain this reunion?

  He squeezed her again and then reluctantly pulled back.

  “Rhys?”

  Her smile answered him before she spoke. His brother was alive! “He’s not here now.” Greyson sucked in a breath.

  “Shhh, it’s okay. He’s fine. Just not at Hightower at the moment.”

  He’s fine.

  Rhys was here. Alive. And he was fine.

  “What about Reikart?” she asked. “And Ian? Did they come through with you?”

  “No. Nothing. We tried to make it through together, but I think I’m the only one who did. If they’re here, I haven’t seen or heard anything of them.”

  They were still home. They had to be. Greyson could hardly breathe. It took every bit of self-control he had to pretend he was fine.

  “It’s okay, Grey. It will be okay.”

  Aye, it would. His mother and brother were alive.

  “Mom”—he looked around them—“how will we explain?”

  Wiping his cheek with the back of her sleeve, as if he were five, his mother smiled.

  “Let me worry about that.”

  She peered over his shoulder. Marian had dismounted.

  He let go of his mother and reached for her.

&n
bsp; “Let me guess,” his mom said as he pulled Marian toward them. “Your wife?”

  Nothing she could have said would have surprised him more.

  “What would make you say that?” He wasn’t typically the commitment type, never mind the marrying one.

  “It seems bringing wives home to Hightower is the new McCaim tradition.”

  Did that mean . . .

  “Your brother Rhys. He’s married as well.”

  He nearly said, Shut the fuck up. Thank the Lord he caught himself. Cursing in front of his mother was a no-go. But Rhys? Married? The same guy who turned tail and ran when any woman asked for more than his first name? Hard to believe.

  “He arrived two months ago with her, but they’ve gone to take back Maggie’s inheritance. A long story . . .”

  She turned to Marian, who bowed. Like an earl’s daughter.

  This was surreal.

  “Lady Marian of Fenwall, my wife. Marian, this is my mother, Shona MacKinnish.”

  “Pleased to finally meet you,” Marian said, but then his mother bowed too.

  “Lady Marian.”

  If he lived here the rest of his life, he would never figure out which titles trumped each other, who you bowed to and who you didn’t. And he’d thought the etiquette of handshakes and twenty-first-century greetings were complicated.

  “Fenwall, as in the Earl of Fenwall along the border?” his mother asked.

  “Aye, my lady. The earl is my father.”

  “Another long story,” Grey added. “But I can feel a big, hulking Viking presence behind me.”

  “Viking?” His mother laughed, embracing her brother. “Ross is no Viking. But I would like to hear how you two ended up together. We’d heard rumors of it, that you traveled together. I’d wanted to believe them so badly.”

  Ross grinned and whispered for the four of them only to hear. “Your son appeared at my feet. Some in this family know proper reverence at least.”

  Shona rolled her eyes. “I revere you above all others, Ross,” she teased.

  He cleared his throat. “Even Alastair?”

  “Definitely Alastair.”

  “You only say that because he’s not here. Where is he?”