Choosing the Highlander

by Jessi Gage

  He wanted to learn all she kent of his Scotia, but what if she was right? What if the mere fact of his knowing such things changed the world so she never came into it? He couldn’t risk losing her.

  “Tell me naught of Scotia. Much as I long to ken what the future holds, I willna risk you.”

  She lifted one of his hands to her lips and kissed his knuckles. Her lips were soft, her breath a warm caress. “Maybe that’s for the best. I never want to leave your side.”

  He heard the truth in her words and felt steadier for it. He only hoped they were not forced apart by events in the more immediate future. Talking with her helped him not to fash over Inverness, but they would arrive there in two days, and uncertainty lurked despite his best efforts not to indulge it.

  “I’ll tell you about my country, instead” she said. “The United States of America. It shouldn’t do much harm since it doesn’t even exist yet, but still, we should probably keep this information just between ourselves.”

  “You have my word I willna breathe a word to anyone.” He huffed a mirthless laugh. “They wouldna believe me if I did.”

  He listened with rapt attention as she described a government with three branches. In this, her land was like his, except the branches of her government were executive, legislative, and judicial rather than the crown, privy council, and parliament. She told him of wars her country had fought, some with European allies, some pitting countryman against countryman for the prize of human rights.

  At his request, she explained industrialization. Her descriptions of steel production, manufacturing, and the construction of towers tall enough to scrape the sky fascinated him. He was even more intrigued when she confessed her part in this process. She designed “systems” that brought clean water to these buildings and shunted the dirtied water away.

  “Like the Roman aqueducts,” he said, as they rode along the River Spey.

  “Yes,” she agreed. “Only on a much larger scale.”

  He felt his eyebrows rise in disbelief. “Have ye heard of the aqueducts, lass?” ’Twas difficult for him to imagine structures larger than those in the south, some of which had existed for ages. “Some of the passageways match the sizes of castles. Some run for leagues under the ground.”

  “Don’t become distracted by the word ‘larger,’” she said, sounding much like an instructor at university. “Think in terms of units of water moved. The aqueducts are made mostly made of stone, which is heavy, brittle and prone to erosion. What if you could use a stronger, lighter material that resists erosion? You could move more water at a faster rate with less wear and tear on the system, and the channels could be much smaller. You could even hide them completely underground or in the walls of buildings, because the likelihood of needing to repair them would be greatly reduced compared to stone water ways.

  “Now, think about not just a city using a system like this, but an entire continent. In my time, most families, even very poor families, enjoy indoor plumbing. In fact, most people take it for granted. They never see the results of what I do, and that’s part of the goal, to provide the client hot and cold water in such a way that they rarely have to think about it.”

  His mind spun with the marvel of clean water being available to so many. People in her United States of America didn’t draw from wells or toss the contents of chamber pots into the gutters. Their water and waste came and went through narrow canals she called “pipes.”

  Questions spun in his mind as he longed to understand this marvel, but one question came to the fore. “Och, lass, did you say hot water?”

  “Yes. Water is heated in a boiler on the premises. When a handle is turned, the hot water flows from the boiler. It can be used by itself or mixed with the ground-temperature water to become any temperature the user desires.” She sighed. “I took a hot bath at the bed and breakfast in Inverness after getting off the plane to meet Leslie. If I’d known it would be my last, I would have taken my time instead of rushing through it.” She turned to grace him with a smile, but he saw the sadness in her eyes.

  He couldn’t give her back her sister, but he vowed in his heart to give her as many hot baths as he could manage.

  Chapter 22

  Dark fell, and with it, the misty rain turned to needles of ice. Connie turned her face up to it now and then to catch some moisture on her tongue, but she was glad to have her cloak and Wilhelm’s kilt providing cover.

  “Is there any chance of finding a dry place to camp tonight?” she asked. The prospect of being wrapped up tight with Wilhelm again excited her, but after shielding them from the rain all day, his kilt was soaked. It would be like lying down in a sodden sleeping bag. She supposed there was no help for it. It wasn’t like they would happen across a Ritz Carlton here in the fifteenth-century Highlands.

  “I believe I can find us a wee bit of shelter.”

  “A share lodge?” She tried not to sound too hopeful, but Wilhelm’s chuckle meant he’d caught her fantasizing about lying down on a bed tonight.

  “Nay, lass. We ought to arrive at our destination within the hour. Have ye grown weary of telling me stories? I should like to hear of the medicines you mentioned. Have you required any for an illness? How effective are they?”

  They’d been talking throughout the day’s ride. Well, mostly, she’d been talking, and Wilhelm had listened and asked questions. He seemed to find her modern world fascinating, especially anything having to do with infrastructure and manufacturing. Certain inventions excited him as well. They’d talked for over an hour about the telephone, switchboards, and operators. He’d marveled at the fact she’d spoken with Leslie on the phone only last week, when they’d been separated by half a world. He’d uttered his preferred exclamation, “Saints above,” when she’d told him how she’d gotten on an airplane and flown across the ocean in the course of a night to join her sister on vacation.

  Her throat was becoming raw from talking so much, but worse, he more she described the world she knew, the deeper it sank in that she wasn’t going back. Her family, her career, her condo, her American freedoms…all gone.

  While grief ravaged her soul, she told Wilhelm about antibiotics and life-saving surgeries, cancer treatments and artificial limbs for wounded soldiers, all things she’d read about in Time magazine or heard about on the news. At the other end of the health-care spectrum were things she considered simple, like vitamins, cold medicines, and aspirin.

  She would never take another aspirin.

  With a start, she realized she hadn’t taken her birth control pill since meeting Wilhelm. The last time she’d seen her clamshell case was when she’d set in on the nightstand at the bed and breakfast. She’d intended to take a pill after returning from the hike with Leslie and the promised breakfast that never came to be.

  After some mental calculation, she concluded she could very well become pregnant after their handfasting last night. Anxiety churned in her stomach, but only because she hadn’t planned for a pregnancy. There was another feeling too, one even stronger than her anxiety. Excitement.

  The Connie of a week ago would have been horrified at her lack of attention to the rather important detail of contraception. The Connie who was beginning to believe in magic and had become engaged to a man after knowing him only a few days, that Connie wanted a child with this amazing man. Preferably more than one.

  Her life was going to look nothing like she’d imagined. Try as she might, she could hardly picture her future. Would Wilhelm’s family accept her? In what capacity would she work to contribute to their clan? She envisioned supporting Wilhelm in his political ambitions, but what would that look like? Would she act like a secretary to him? A sounding board? Heavens, she knew nothing about late-medieval politics. She couldn’t possibly offer advice.

  “You are quiet, lass. What fashes you?”

  “Fash,” she repeated. A word for worry. She was getting used to Wilhelm’s dialect. Would she begin to speak with a Scottish accent? Would she learn words and phrases in
Gaelic?

  The foreignness of this historic world roused a sharp panic in her chest. She gasped for air, and a sob cut from her throat.

  Wilhelm was there, holding her, shushing her soothingly. He brought Justice to a halt. “Easy, lass. Easy. I’ve got you.”

  “It’s so different here.” In talking about her past, she’d painted a portrait of a place she loved to which she would never return. “I’m lost. I’m so lost.” She gripped his forearms as tears came. “Damn it. Not again.” She swatted at them as they fell.

  “Whist.”

  Another foreign word, but one she associated with Wilhelm’s comfort.

  He rocked her gently. “Never fear to show me your heart, love. Your pain is my pain. Aye? I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

  “I don’t know anything here. I don’t know what life is going to be like. I’ve committed to staying here, but I have no idea what it will entail. I’m afraid. I have no point of reference.”

  He whispered harsh words to her in Gaelic. Somehow, even though she didn’t understand the words, they soothed her. His harshness was for her, not against her. He cared that she was hurting.

  “Mo luaidh, mo luaidh, mo luaidh.” Those words, she understood. “I shall be your point of reference. You may hang all your understanding on this: I love you, and nothing will ever change that. This shall be the constant in your life, in our life together.”

  His words pulled more tears from her. She couldn’t tell if they were happy or sad tears. Likely, a combination of both. He held her while she cried herself out.

  His reassurance helped. It did. But she couldn’t help worrying what the future would hold. All she knew was that there was no going back.

  Connie’s father was an exceptional businessman. He had some favorite sayings that he liked to share with anyone who would listen. Among them were “Fortune favors the bold” and “Drink the whole cup.” Leslie would roll her eyes when he spouted such things, but Connie had taken her father’s messages to heart. He’d carved out his own success. He’d done it on his terms and on his own merits. She wanted that kind of success as well, the kind that came from refusing to compromise, from living boldly, from drinking the whole cup.

  For the most part, she’d lived her life that way. While Leslie waffled over major decisions, Connie tended to act quickly and decisively. She’d taken only a semester to choose engineering over theater, and despite the emotional toll of giving up something she loved, she’d never looked back. Engineering had simply made more sense. It was the choice more likely to guarantee success.

  After putting in her three years in a starting engineering position, she’d set her sights on an associate position and pursued it with every ounce of determination she possessed. As a result, she’d become the first female associate the firm had ever hired.

  Looking back, she could see that her relationship with Milt had been an aberration. Several times, he’d dropped hints that he would like to see their relationship progress. Her reluctance to move boldly into matrimony with him should have been an obvious sign they weren’t as compatible as she had wished.

  Some part of her had known he wasn’t right for her, but she’d kept trying to shoehorn Milt into her life. Adored by her family, driven to succeed, considerate of her goals, he’d seemed like the sensible, logical choice. But her heart, it seemed, didn’t care one whit about sense and logic.

  Forgive me, Milt, for not giving you your freedom sooner.

  She’d never “drunk the whole cup” with Milt. She’d always held something of herself in reserve with him. The first time she’d given her whole heart and truly “drunk the whole cup” was last night with Wilhelm.

  This is my life now. He will be my husband soon. I’ve chosen this, and I have no regrets.

  Not even knowing everything her choice had cost her. Not even if she was pregnant with his child so soon.

  She blew out a breath that fogged in the damp air. “I’m all right. I’m better now.”

  He didn’t relax his hold. “’Tis unsderstandable, lass, to grieve what you’ve lost. ’Twill take time, aye?”

  She hoped they had time. Considering she was engaged to a wanted man with a determined enemy, time was not a guarantee. She’d been too busy processing her situation today and sharing a bit of her home with Wilhelm to strategize about Inverness.

  A new worry presented itself as she thought ahead to meeting the judges and lawmakers of his time and giving testimony to clear her fiancé’s name. “Wilhelm?”

  “Aye, love?” He urged Justice to continue on at an ambling walk. Quiet steps behind them meant Honesty was obediently following.

  “Who am I supposed to be when we arrive in Inverness?”

  He went still at her back. “Our union will be binding, if that’s what you’re asking. You need no’ fear your acceptance with the Murray. Or that I would deny you your contract. I shall present you as my wife to all we meet.” His arms tightened around her.

  She patted his hands, careful not to disturb the reins. “I’m not worried about you backing out on me, my honest man. But I do have questions. We invoked an old custom last night, yes? One reserved for warriors going into battle. It’s true you’re headed into uncertainty in Inverness, but it’s not technically battle. And we had no witnesses. Will our arrangement be recognized beyond the local level of your clan?”

  “What makes you fash about such things?”

  “Ruthven,” she stated. “He’s a weasel. And he hates you.” At least she’d gathered as much from what she’d managed to observe the night she’d met Wilhelm. “You jumped up on the platform and asked him how much he would take for me.” She’d been too terrified to find it insulting at the time, and now that she knew Wilhelm, she was flattered he’d offered to purchase her freedom without knowing a single thing about her. “He refused. He said something about letting a Murray buy a prisoner from him before and that this time, he’d find it more enjoyable to watch justice run its course.”

  The memory of that vile man taking pleasure in her suffering sat in her stomach like a cold stone.

  “I wasna about to let his so-called justice run its course.” His gravelly words carried the weight of his conviction.

  “I know. You didn’t even know me then, but you were willing to risk everything to save me. You did risk everything to save me. You might have been killed.” She felt sick at the thought.

  “No. Terran and I are fine warriors. I’d already noticed Ruthven’s preparations that night were designed to impress his social peers rather than to protect his guests and his household. Many of his usual guards had been dismissed for the night so as not to sully the gathering with their rough appearances.”

  “You still would have fought for me, even if his security had been top notch.” She knew this was true because she knew her man.

  He responded by leaning forward to press his cheek to hers over her shoulder. “What point are ye making, lass?”

  “The last time anyone of note saw me, I was a prisoner about to be executed. You can introduce me as your wife all you want, but outside of your clan we have no legal association. I have no legitimacy. I’m nobody here. Literally nobody. I have no record of birth, no family to report me missing or to throw their weight around to ensure my wellbeing. It will be a miracle if anyone takes my testimony seriously. And I can pretty much guarantee Ruthven will exploit my lack of connections.

  “Being handfasted is wonderful if we’re simply going to Dornoch with the intention of making everything legal as soon as possible. But instead, we’re heading into a politically charged situation. ‘Battle’ is probably an apt term, but it’ll be a battle of pens instead of swords. Unfortunately, we’re going in essentially unarmed. I won’t have any legal ability to argue on your behalf. Technically, I don’t even exist.”

  “Och, lass. You’ve got a mind on you. I hadn’t considered the farther-reaching implications of taking you into Inverness without being properly wed. My only concern was binding you to me for
your safety and my peace of mind. But if Ruthven finds us before Kenrick arrives, it leaves you completely at Ruthven’s mercy.

  “Our saving grace is that Ruthven willna ken we’re travelling to Inverness. No one save Terran and Anselm kens our whereabouts—and my father, if he’s received the letter I sent from the abbey. So long as we avoid Ruthven and his bishop, all should be well. Still, I wonder…” His voice trailed off.

  She’d hoped she might be worrying for nothing, but Wilhelm’s response suggested she’d found a chink in their armor. Was he thinking the same thing as she? That they should make their “wedding by bedding” more legitimate before reaching Inverness?

  From seeing Terran and Aifric through their nuptials, she gathered that would entail an officiator drawing up a contract. Was such a thing even possible? With no knowledge of this fifteenth-century landscape, she had no idea whether they might find an officiator between here and Inverness.

  Wait. Her travel guide. That would at least provide a starting point. Surely it would show larger towns that would be likely to exist in this time. Her fingers itched to look at the enclosed map and read about Scotland, not from the perspective of a twentieth-century tourist but as a fifteenth-century woman who needed a better understanding of her new country.

  Last night, she thought she’d drunk the whole cup with Wilhelm, but she hadn’t. Not really. If Wilhelm was thrown in prison, or condemned to worse for the supposed crime of rescuing her, she wanted the legal ability to fight for his life.

  If she was pregnant with his child, she wanted his son or daughter to have every privilege that came with their father’s name. Her first child would be in line for a noble title. She refused to gamble such security on the plan of remaining hidden from Ruthven. That man was a weasel through and through. Those black eyes hid a calculating mind and a seething hatred for her would-be husband.