A little boy yelled, “Brann, she’s frightened. Be a wee bit kinder.” He pushed ahead of the big brute. He was a cute kid of around eight or ten, freckles across his nose and red hair. “Where are ye from, lass? My name is Lachie and this is my brother, Brann. He’s laird of Clan MacKay.”
The crowd of men clustered closer to her, the vile smell of unwashed skin and clothing overwhelming her senses enough that her vision blurred. Too close, they were all standing too close. Her claustrophobia kicked in, further blurring her vision.
The big man, Brann, shouted, “Back. All of ye leave now. I’ll deal with the lass.”
They moved away slowly, apparently too slowly, because the man called Brann pulled a giant sword out from something near his hip. He brandished it at the men who crowded around them, scattering them in various directions. Only the young boy stayed.
The panicky feeling amped up. That sword looked real. She could barely stand, so when he took her hand, she let him.
“Lass, come. Sit for a moment.” He led her over to a tree stump and she sat down, only then realizing she’d walked for a good distance without any water.
“Drink?” she asked, hoping he’d understand the simple word.
He grabbed something from his horse, and her thirst was so great that she took a sip without asking what it was, but she gagged and promptly spat it out. “What is that? Have you no water?”
“Ale. ‘Tis my best ale ye just spat all over. Dinnae waste good ale. Lachie, get the lass some water.” The boy ran off and Brann yelled after him, giving her the perfect opportunity to stare at the laird without being too obvious. If he hadn’t been covered in dirt and sweat, he wouldn’t be bad looking at all.
Okay, he was hot…even with the dirt and sweat. He didn’t smell like the others, so she hoped it was one day’s dirt instead of countless days’ accumulation.
He spun back around to face her, his expression serious. “Where did ye come from and what do ye want? If ye’re selling yer wares, say so now before my brother returns. I’ll no’ subject him to yer kind.”
She gasped at the insinuation and bolted off the log, her arm swinging so fast that she caught half his cheek with a resounding slap, though he saw it coming this time and did his best to stop her.
“Och, ‘tis twice now ye’ve hit me. Stop or I’ll return it.”
“You called me a whore.” Allie had never been so insulted. Her clothes were completely modest, and this stranger, who’d been a part of that strange mob, had seen fit to insult her. “How could you think such a thing? You insulted me, and straight to my face.”
He moved his face to about an inch away from hers, doing his best to intimidate her, but she refused to buckle. His words came out in a whisper between clenched teeth. “What do ye wish for me to think when ye come here dressed as ye are, with yer clothes all wet and clinging to ye and the tightest pair of trews I’ve ever seen.”
She gasped, her eyes widening at the realization that he really meant it. He absolutely thought she was a whore.
She had to get the hell out of here, wherever here was.
Allie brushed stray hairs away from her face in frustration, yet she refused to be intimidated by the big brute. “Please just let me use your phone. I need to call my sisters, and then I’ll be on my way. I’m lost and I don’t know how to get back to them.”
“Ye want what? My home?”
“No, your phone. P-H-O-N-E. Phone. Just one call is all I need. Please?”
“I know no’ of what ye speak, lass. I have nae phone or whatever ‘tis.”
She was going to faint for certain.
He wasn’t lying.
She could tell by the look on his face that he had no idea what she asked of him. This wasn’t a matter of not having a phone or choosing to make war on technology. He literally didn’t know what a phone was. She watched as Lachie ran back with a skin of water, taking in the clothing he wore—a plaid garment wrapped in pleats around him, a tunic underneath. Wool socks, boots in this weather. The clothing was weird, no doubt about that, but weird in a special way. Weird like the clothing she’d seen in movies from long ago or the kilts she’d seen in museums. She’d been to a Scottish novelty store full of brightly colored tartans, their carefully stitched pleats arranged just so.
She glanced around the clearing again. The people she’d found weren’t the only oddities around here. How had she not noticed before?
No electricity. No poles. No cars, no planes in the sky.
No roads.
No signs or paved sidewalks.
And no females.
She motioned for Lachie to come closer. When he did, she grabbed the end of the fabric he had tossed over his shoulder, tugging it down to look at the stitching. Much as she tried, she couldn’t contain her gasp. She moved closer to Brann, reaching for the sleeve of his tunic, then the fabric of his kilt, staring at the hemmed edges up close.
Roughly placed hand stitches bound the ends and held the seams.
Who sewed men’s garments by hand?
Thoughts of her favorite Jennae Vale books raced through her mind again. Her voice came out in a croak. “What year is it?”
“What?” Lachie asked.
“What year? You know…fifteen hundred, nineteen hundred, two thousand and eighteen?”
The Scots both grinned and chuckled as if she’d told a grand joke.
“What are ye talking about?” Brann asked.
Lachie laughed. “Two thousand? ‘Tis the year of our Lord thirteen ninety-four.”
Allie promptly fainted.
Chapter Three
When Allie opened her eyes, the first thing she noticed was the strong male body behind her. Her first impression was that she was lying in her bed, spooning with her boyfriend, Chad. She’d had this horrific dream that she’d time-traveled back to medieval Scotland, to a land of fighting, smelly Highlanders. Thank goodness it had only been a dream, even though the big laird had been hot in a brutal kind of way.
There was only one problem. She’d split with her boyfriend two weeks ago, and the body behind her was definitely more muscular than Chad’s thin frame.
She sat up, wiping the little bit of drool caught in one corner of her mouth.
“Drooling, lassie?”
She straightened up, just then realizing she sat atop a huge horse, about as far from the ground as if she were riding an elephant. She whipped her head around and wailed as soon as her gaze caught his.
“Nooooooo…” Her hands flew to both sides of her head, as if she could stop the instant ache between her temples. Her head shook side to side as if controlled by someone else.
“Och, if ye dinnae stop, ye’ll knock us both off.” He grabbed her hips to still her, but she shoved back at him.
The next moment, she was grappling to stay on top of the horse as he cursed her. “Keep still, will ye nae? Ye’re upsetting my horse and ‘tis a long way down.”
The beast shook his head and she grabbed his mane, hoping to stay on. “Okay, I’ll keep still.” She patted the horse, doing her best to calm him. “What’s his name?”
“His name is Star, and he’s a warhorse. He doesnae do well with lasses, so stay calm or he’ll send us both flying.” Brann’s hand still held her hip as if to protect her.
“Where are we going?” she whispered, deciding she needed to accept this man’s help for the moment. He was a Highlander, and if her favorite novels had served her correctly, he would be honorable, rough, and stubborn, but he would treat her well.
“I’m taking ye to my land. ‘Tis nearly dusk and ye can sleep. We’ll talk in the morn. Mayhap after a night’s rest ye’ll remember how ye came to be here.”
She glanced over her shoulder, noticed he still carried his sword. About a dozen horses followed his, and the little boy—Lachie he’d been called—waved at her from one of them. The other men in the group were also armed. This was a different crowd from the group she’d seen before. These men looked to be powerful warriors. T
hey sat their horses like beasts, ready to attack anyone who came near them.
She was pleased to notice the vile smells had dissipated. That was of great help to her claustrophobia.
Maybe Brann was right. If she rested, she’d have a better chance of figuring out what had happened to her. She could ask about the area she’d awoken in. Maybe they’d know something.
Until then, there was little point in panicking. Whether this was a delusion—or, God forbid, actual time travel—she may as well enjoy herself as best she could. It would give her the strength to find her sisters, because no matter what had happened, she would find them. She wouldn’t accept anything less. But if she allowed herself to wonder what had happened to them and where they were, she wouldn’t be able to think of anything else.
She leaned back against the Highlander’s massive chest and tucked her head under his chin, taking in the beautiful scenery around her. They followed the lane through a dense forest, the only sounds from the scattering of wildlife being interrupted. If it had been daylight, she guessed she’d be able to see the squirrels scampering through the trees while foxes chased rabbits for dinner. She heard the hoot of an owl, which competed only with the most peaceful silence she’d ever heard.
The horses’ hooves trampled the path as they moved forward, finally breaking through the trees to a vision unlike anything she’d ever seen before.
“Ye like my castle, lass?”
She turned to nod at Brann, forcing a smile. “It’s quite beautiful, especially at night.” Perfectly true, but it was also frightening. There were no lights visible. No streetlights, no glow in the windows, no carriage lamps.
Just torches.
Added to the seemingly untouched wilderness they’d traveled through, this lack of lighting seemed to support her insane time travel theory. So did the path they traveled, lined with medieval-style huts.
She’d heard about reenactments put on for tourists or history buffs, but surely they weren’t this concerned with authenticity.
“Welcome to Clan MacKay,” Brann said. “These are my people. They’ll treat ye well as long as ye dinnae kick them in the bollocks or slap them for speaking.”
She blushed a deep scarlet, remembering what she’d done to him. “About that. I suppose I should apologize, but the other men would not stop touching me, and I…”
His finger came from behind to settle against her lips, silencing her. “I dinnae fault ye for protecting yerself and yer honor. Ye have my apologies for calling ye what I did. Clearly ye’re nae. I wrapped ye in my spare plaid so my clanmates would nae think less of ye for being so bare.”
She couldn’t help but roll her eyes at his comment, jeans and a peasant top hardly qualified as ‘bare,’ but if this were truly medieval times, she understood why her clothes looked so odd to him.
Or maybe this was part of some immersive game show, and they gave prizes out to the most convincing reenactors.
If so, all of these people deserved trophies.
As they moved through the huts, people emerged from them and stood on the path, staring at her.
“We know everyone here. They stare at ye because ye are a newcomer.”
And stare they did. She noticed the younger girls stared more at Brann than at her. Those who did look at her seemed to be assessing her out of jealousy.
“Are you married?” she whispered, the number of girls gawking at him increasing the farther they moved down the path.
“Nay, and never will be.”
That comment took her by surprise, so she peeked back at him, only to be greeted by a stony face. He clearly wasn’t ready to explain his answer, so she kept quiet. What did it matter? She was leaving as soon as she could figure out how to get back to her sisters. Even if she had somehow traveled through time, there would be some way to get back. These things always went both ways, right?
A few people shouted at Brann in Gaelic, and from his sharp replies, also in Gaelic, she guessed the questions were about her.
“They’re nosy, aren’t they?” she tittered, watching the hopeful faces. If she really were in medieval Scotland, she’d say the art of gossip started a very long time ago.
“Nosy? I dinnae know that expression.” He gave her a crooked smile, but one that brought the one dimple out, making him even more appealing.
“Wanting to know your business,” she explained as she studied the crowd again, not taking her eyes away from the women who glared at her. “And my business, apparently.”
“Aye, ‘tis natural for them to wonder about their leader. Do ye nae worry about yers?”
She thought about attempting to explain anything about the United States and their president but decided it would be a total waste of her time.
Little boys chased them as they approached the castle, peppering Lachie, who rode directly behind them, with questions. They crossed a small bridge and drew up to the wall that surrounded the castle. The gate was open, but Brann slowed enough to chat with his men, all big, all muscular, all carrying swords, just as many of the men traveling with them did.
She was in the land of Highland giants.
She finally allowed herself to think on her sisters. What had happened to them? Were they back in modern Scotland wondering where she had gone, or had they time traveled to somewhere else in Scotland? What if they’d gone to a different time period? Those thoughts prompted a roiling in her belly she didn’t like. Maybe she’d mention the possibility of time travel to her host in the morning, see if he’d heard of it happening to anyone else.
***
Brann ran his hand down his face. Hellfire, but he was going to have to beat some faces in to get his men to stand down. Several warriors had followed him all the way to the castle gates just to take a good look at his new guest.
Two horses would ride up on either side of him, as close as they dared, before he had to glare at them to get them to hold back. What was happening? One lass had arrived and they’d totally lost their control.
He snorted. They were his warriors, and control was not one of their best features.
Still, he couldn’t allow them to continue staring. He let out a shrill whistle. “Get on with yer duties, men.”
They shuffled away as innocently as they could. Had she any idea what trouble she was causing? Glancing at her from the side, he had to admit it didn’t seem likely. She stared straight ahead, lost in thought and oblivious to all that took place around her.
“Yer name again?”
“Allison Sutton. Allie for short. My sisters call me Allie.”
“I’ve never heard of Clan Sutton. Do yer parents live in a small village on their own? Mayhap ye’ve come from the Lowlands. Is that yer land, Allison?” He led his horse over to the stables, shooing away all his gawking clanmates.
“From the Lowlands? Sure. That sounds as good as anything, I guess. I have no memory of how I landed where I did. I must have been hit on the head. I jumped into a waterfall and woke up in a strange, warm pool, but I have no idea how I got there. So I walked until I found people.”
Brann felt as if he’d been struck by lightning. Could this truly be happening? He could not deny the lass’s story fit with the tale his sire had told him years ago. So did her strange attributes—her brash attitude, her peculiar clothes and accent. If there was even a chance it was true, there was only one thing he could do. Help her. He thought on it for a few moments, and finally said, “We’ll tell them ye were traveling from the Lowlands when a group of reivers set on ye. All yer companions were killed or ran off, and ye were hit on the head. They left ye to die and we found ye. Or ye found us. Does that suit ye, Allison?”
“Allie. Please call me Allie.”
“I’ve never heard the name before, yet I’ve heard of many Allisons. ‘Tis best for ye to be Allison. Fewer questions will be asked.” He dismounted and helped her down, admiring how comely she looked in the green and blue MacKay plaid. Once he set her down, she nearly toppled over, so he set her to rights while Lac
hie came up behind them.
“Ye’ve got riders’ legs, lass. Have ye nae ridden a horse of late?”
She shook her head.
He turned her around, his hand at her lower back just because he wanted it there, and she didn’t fight him fortunately. His second flew out of the keep, heading straight for him across the cobblestone courtyard.
“Brann, how did ye do in the challenge—” He stopped suddenly, as soon as his gaze landed on Allison. “Ye brought a lass home from the corners?”
A strange sense of possessiveness overtook him, and he tugged her back closer to him. She didn’t resist.
“We found her no’ far from the fields. She and her companions were traveling from the Lowlands to meet their kin when they were set upon by reivers. She has nae memory of what happened. Do ye, lass?”
She shook her head, strangely quiet compared to how she’d been before.
“Find Jinty. Have her make up a chamber for the lass, the one next to mine.”
“Next to yers?” He’d never seen his second display such an expression of disbelief. He waited for him to recover.
“Aye, next to mine, Angus. Can ye do that? And this is Allison. She took a blow to the head and ‘tis aching her now. Have Jinty give her a concoction to ease her pain.”
“Oh no. No concoction,” Allison insisted.
“I thought ye said ye have a headache? Jinty will fix ye up right away.”
“No. It’s better. I just need to rest.”
“This is my second in command, Angus. If ye’ve need of anything, he can assist ye. Jinty is my housekeeper. She also serves as a lady’s maid, but since we have verra few ladies in residence at the keep, she does no’ do it often. We have two serving maids who also assist in the kitchens. One of them is Jinty’s daughter, Elspeth. Be patient with them, if ye would. Angus, find Jinty and stop yer staring.”
He led Allison up the steps to the keep, then held the door for her as she stepped inside.
Falling for the Chieftain: A Time Travel Romance (Enchanted Falls Trilogy, Book 3) Page 2