by Mary Morgan
He felt her tremble, but she nodded. Giving a tug on the reins, they moved up the path.
With each steady trot, her body swayed and Cormac tried to focus on the road. The castle. Fighting in the lists. Bathing in the icy waters of the loch. Anything but the soft curves of the lass’s body pressing against his own. What was wrong with him? He prided himself on being a man always in control of his emotions—especially his lustful ones. Yet, now he found himself confused, tongue-tied, and his gut twisted into knots.
So deep in his thoughts, he did not notice Fingal veering off the main road until the lass let out a giggle. She had the most musical sound, and he found himself smiling. Guiding his horse back to the path, he could hear his men doing their best to contain themselves. A glance back confirmed William was coughing loudly and Gordon trying his best not to fall off his horse.
“I swear Fingal, I am tempted to trade ye in for another horse. Ye must be going blind, or worse, old.”
His horse let out a large snort.
Eve clicked her tongue in disapproval. “For shame, Mr. Murray. How cruel. I think he’s a kind animal. Perhaps it’s the man holding the reins who can’t see clearly the path in front of him?”
The lass was quick with the wit, he mused. “I dinnae ken your word, but ye may call me Cormac.” He leaned near her again. “And I can assure ye, I am nae blind, nor old.”
She twisted around to look at him, and all he could think of was kissing those full lips. They reminded him of tart berries on a summer day, and he pondered how sweet they would taste.
“You’re a strange man, Cormac,” she uttered softly.
He shrugged, and she turned back around. “Where is your home?”
“San Francisco. I won this trip, and I’m honored to be a part of your celebrations. Your castle is stunning from the distance.”
“I dinnae ken the place. Is it in England?” He grew troubled by her strange words.
Again, she laughed. “No. I wish. It’s in the state of California. I’m from America.”
Puzzled, Cormac tried to recall if he had heard of the foreign place. She continued to babble on about her home and then burst out in glee at some deer ambling along through the trees.
“Have ye never seen deer?” he asked in astonishment.
“Of course, but not like this. They’re stunning! You are fortunate to be surrounded by beauty. Where I live there is constant noises, especially from cars and trains. At times, it can be overwhelming. That’s when I retreat to the ocean.”
Cormac’s mind whirled trying to keep up with what she was talking about. “How does one win a trip?”
Eve shifted in an attempt to look at him, and Cormac let out a groan. “Oh, I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?”
Only in a part that craves to be inside ye. “Nae. Ye dinnae have to look at me to answer.”
“I’m stunned. I assumed since you are the laird you would know.” She shrugged dismissively. “Maybe your staff hasn’t informed you. I won the contest at the Blushing Rose Bakery. This was part of my winnings. To bake for the Yule feast here at Castle Creag.”
“Ye did come at a grand time. We are in need of help in the kitchens.”
She let out a nervous giggle. “Excellent. I was afraid you weren’t going to let me inside.”
“I do not turn away strangers, particularly women,” he stated.
Making their way steadily upward, toward the bridge and Castle Creag, Cormac considered all the words the lass had spoken. As soon as they were inside, he was going to pull forth his maps and have her show him exactly where she hailed from.
Eve gasped. “Spectacular! It looks positively medieval.”
Smiling, he shook his head. Cormac thought her daft, but if the lass could cook, he gave no care to her way of looking at everything—or speaking. He raised his hand in greeting, and the guard on the North Tower saluted back. A mere moment later, Fergus came barreling through the gate and across the bridge.
“Great Gatsby! Is that your dog? A wolfhound, right?”
“Aye.” Dismounting from his horse, he greeted Fergus. The animal turned and sniffed at Eve’s feet.
Eve smiled, transforming her entire face. All Cormac could do was stare at the lass, ignoring his own men when they passed by him. “You are a handsome fellow. What’s your name?” Her fingers reached down and grazed across his head.
She lifted her gaze to Cormac, and his mouth became dry, unable to answer her question.
“His name is Fergus,” commented Gordon. “I believe our laird had a fleeting lapse of thought.”
Cormac turned and seeing the smirk on his man’s face, he glared at him. Ye shall pay for that remark in the list. Reaching for his horse’s reins, he led them across the gate and through the portcullis.
Upon entering the bailey, Cormac reached for Eve. She placed her hands on his shoulders, and as she slipped down, their gazes locked. A blush stained her cheek and neck, and he was curious if the rosy glow extended to her full breasts.
“You can release me,” she uttered softly.
Cormac took a step back. He clenched his shaking hands and abruptly turned around. Still seeing the smirk on Gordon’s face, he ordered, “Ye can take my horse to the stables. I will show Eve and Glenna to the kitchens.”
“Are ye sure ye would not rather have me tend to the women?” countered the man as Eve strolled toward them.
By the hounds! His friend was trying his patience. “I believe I gave ye an order,” he gritted out.
“Aye, ye did.” Gordon winked at Eve and took the reins of the horse.
Turning on his heels, Cormac strode into the castle. Silence greeted him. As of late, the place had been in utter chaos. Now, not one child scampered about. No shouting, wailing, or even a curse flung out. Blissful, peaceful, calm.
His steps quickened. Entering the kitchens, he let out a groan. Seated on a bench was Moira giving strict orders to John on the proper procedure of rolling out bread. Cormac glanced around. Ina was nowhere in sight.
“Where is Ina?” he demanded. “And why are ye downstairs, Moira?”
Moira glanced up. “’Tis good to see ye have returned. The snows were not light.” She angled her head. “Unless my eyes deceive me, this is nae Glenna.”
“I am right here,” snapped Glenna. She moved around Cormac and Eve. “Sweet Mother Danu. Why are ye down here?”
“Whist. I am much better.” Smiling, the women embraced each other.
“I am waiting for an account, Moira,” stated Cormac.
The woman snorted. “Naught was getting done. I deemed it far better to remove Ina until she had healed and another could help in the kitchens.”
Cormac narrowed his eyes and cast his gaze to John, who refused to meet his hard stare. His temper quickly rising, he said, “I ask for ye to help the lass, not try and bed her in the kitchens.”
Eve let out a gasp and all eyes turned to her. “I hope you’re going to fire him.”
Confused, Cormac asked, “Why would I put fire on the man?”
“Obviously, he tried to take advantage of the girl and should be punished. And that’s not what I meant. Sack him. Dismiss the scoundrel and make sure he never returns.”
Dizzy from trying to follow Eve’s flow of words, Cormac rubbed a hand over his brow. “John is one of my most trusted guards—”
“I love the lass,” blurted out John.
Cormac glared at the man.
“My pardon,” John uttered quickly.
Turning his gaze once more to Eve, he continued, “As I was saying, John is a guard here at Creag. Trustworthy, loyal, and apparently smitten with the lass.”
“Oh. Sorry. But you looked extremely angry at the man.” She bit her lower lip and shrugged.
Moira laughed. “Goodness, she sounds like the others.”
“Others?” he asked, fearing he would not like her answer.
“Aye, most definitely. She speaks like Brigid and Deirdre. Where did ye find her?”
Cor
mac’s mind whirled. Nae! Impossible! Those women traveled the veil of ages to help Duncan and Angus MacKay with their quest with redemption, along with the other two MacKay brothers’ wives—Aileen and Fiona. And then he recalled where Brigid told him she hailed from—a place called America.
Startled by the revelation, Cormac staggered away from Eve Brannigan.
Chapter Eight
“Pluck the petals from the flower, mix with a drop of honey, add a splash of tears, and give to your lover on Yule.”
The man was a lunatic. No doubt about it, considering the way he was gaping at her. Eve glanced down at her gown. Was there something horrible attached to the material? Did she step into horse dung?
Yet, each time she peered into his blue eyes, she couldn’t look away. She’d never known a man to have such mesmerizing eyes. His blond hair had streaks of gold, as if the sun had painted its light throughout. Usually, Eve didn’t like men with long hair. Nope, she preferred her men clean cut and shaven. However, the moment this man stepped into her path, she couldn’t stop staring at him. Her breathing became shallow and the air thick. Eve thought a Celtic God had appeared out of thin air.
Yes, Cormac Murray didn’t appear to be any ordinary man. A handsome hunk with thick, golden hair that touched his shoulders, add in the shadow of a beard on his face, and her knees went weak.
He reminded her of the hero from the romance story she read on the plane. Stop! He’s nothing more than a man who likes to bark out orders. Yes, he’s gorgeous as sin, but don’t let his looks fool you.
Growing weary of his stony expression, she fisted her hands on her hips. “What is wrong now?”
He gave her no time to react before he grabbed her arm and led her out of the kitchens. Stunned, Eve started to protest, but the warning look he gave her would singe the hair off any human being or animal. Raving idiot! She clenched her jaw, trying to maintain her composure and not let her fury explode.
Leading her up the stone steps, flames flickered from their holders. Strange, why would they use fire inside the castle for lighting? To make the guests feel part of the medieval atmosphere? Trying to keep up with him, her steps faltered, and she slammed against him. They both landed against a large wooden door.
His grip was tight around her waist, his fingers moving slightly upward. She trembled from his touch, and gazed into eyes that blazed with anger and then changed to confusion.
Releasing her, he glanced around as if he didn’t want anyone to see them in the corridor. “My pardons. Ye claim to come from America, aye?”
“Yes,” she answered slowly, letting her anger settle to a simmer.
“Ye may think me daft—”
“Definitely,” she interrupted.
Cormac closed his eyes. “What is the year?”
Why do I always find the bizarre ones attractive? “When I woke this morning, which was on the plane, I believe the year was the same—2016.”
Letting out a curse, he moved away from her and started to pace along the corridor. Someone call for the men in the white jackets. Slowly edging away from him, Eve turned and fled back down the stairs.
Running into the kitchens, she halted when all talking ceased. “Is there a telephone I can use? I’d like to leave.”
“Och, lass. Come here.” Moira patted her hand on the bench. “Tell me your name and why ye wish to leave.”
Eve snorted and shook her head. Making her way to the woman, she slumped down on the bench beside her. “My name is Eve Brannigan, and I have no desire to be around a maniac. You can all find someone else, but I didn’t sign up to be harassed and snapped at.”
The woman coughed into her hand, yet, Eve could see she was trying her best not to laugh. “I dinnae ken all your words, but ye must understand our laird is usually good-tempered and a kind man.”
“Are you sure we’re speaking of the same man?” scoffed Eve. “I was excited to accept the Murray’s invitation in the beginning. However, from the moment I arrived in Scotland, there has been one problem after the next. I’m tired, hungry, and have no patience for pig-headed men who do nothing but bark out orders.” Even if you are gorgeous eye candy, Cormac Murray.
One of the men moved forward. “Greetings, Eve. My name is Gordon. Moira is correct. Our laird has been under strain of late.” He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Let me go speak with him. Surely, ye can see we are in need of some aid. The Yule feast approaches and ’tis an important time within our clan. Our men, women, and children have been through trying times.”
Eve was sure she was going to regret her decision, but with all the pleading how could she up and leave. “All right, I’ll stay, but please keep that man away from me with his foul mood.”
Moira sighed. “Thank ye.”
“I agree with the lass,” stated Glenna. “The Murray is not welcome in the kitchens. Only those we deem can help may enter.”
Gordon smirked. “I will inform the laird.” He glanced back down at Eve. “I thank ye.” Giving her a short bow, he left the kitchens.
“Ye can take your leave, as well, John,” ordered Glenna.
“Happily,” stated John. Wiping his hands on a cloth, he too quickly left.
Glenna clucked her tongue in disapproval of the kitchens, looking in all directions. “What a mess.”
Standing, Eve removed her cloak. “Is there an apron I can borrow? Or better yet, I would love to change out of this gown and into something else. Since I’ve lost everything, I’ll need to make some calls to stores, or do you think someone would be kind enough to lend me some of their clothes. A pair of pants and T-shirt would be fine.”
Both women looked at her as if they didn’t understand a word she uttered. She was about to re-think her plans on staying when Glenna spoke.
“Fae meddling,” she muttered, sweeping aside her long braid.
“Fae,” sputtered Eve.
Moira chuckled loudly. “When was the last time ye had a meal, Eve?”
Her question caught Eve off guard. Instantly, her stomach protested, and she grimaced. Confused by the time difference, she shook her head. “A long time. Dinner last night on the plane and a light breakfast. What time is it?”
“Past midday,” replied Moira.
Looking at her wrist, Eve recalled how she lost everything, including her watch. “Don’t you have a clock?”
“Sit, lass,” instructed Glenna. “Ye shall have a meal, drink, and rest.”
Horrified, Eve responded, “Absolutely not. You need my help. I’ll snack on something later.”
Moira reached for Eve’s hand with a pleading look in her eyes. “Dinnae argue with Glenna. Her fury is greater than the Murray’s.”
Eve complied and sat. She looked at Glenna, who now huddled over the cauldron. “What’s cooking?”
“Some slop of cabbage, leeks, and parts I have no wish to mention.”
Eve swallowed. “I’m happy with bread and cheese.”
“Shh…ye need a proper meal,” said Moira softly.
Glenna glanced over her shoulder. “Who helps in the kitchen with errands?”
“There’s Nola, Grizel, and when the lad is nae causing mischief, ’tis Tomas.”
Striding to the entrance, Glenna shouted, “Fetch me Tomas, Grizel, and Nola!”
Going to one of the work tables, Glenna looked inside the baskets. “Eggs, wild onions, more cabbage―”
“I would be happy with fried eggs, onions, and some cheese,” Eve blurted out.
Glenna’s brow furrowed in obvious displeasure of the interruption.
“I would be more than happy to prepare my own meal.” Eve smiled, hoping to disarm the woman’s displeasure.
Reaching for an apron, Glenna tossed it to Eve. “Let me see what ye can do.”
Smiling, she pulled the apron over her head and quickly tied it in place. Stepping to the table, she pulled out a couple of eggs, and onions. Seeing other baskets, she peeked in all of those, pulling out mushrooms and fresh dill. Uncovering a mound of c
loth on the table, she smiled at the sight of a large round of cheese. “Where can I chop these items?”
Glenna handed her a large blade. “At the table by the herbs.”
“Gotcha.” Eve twirled around and spotted the area. Herbs hung drying on beams above a large wooden table. Taking the knife from Glenna, she made her way to the table. “I’m curious, Moira. Why are there not any ovens? With a place this grand, why do you not have the kitchens modernized? Is it all in keeping with the medieval theme?” she asked while chopping the onions.
“There is an oven for baking breads to the side of the hearth. Ye may find it a wee bit different here,” responded Moira.
Why was it, no one fully answered Eve’s questions? Did they not understand her? “Positively ancient and I’m expected to bake under these conditions?” she muttered. Eve brushed off the dirt from the mushrooms and sliced them. Still pondering over her situation, she considered this a test of her skills. Eve never walked away from a challenge, and she definitely believed this was the most insane one she’d ever encountered.
Placing the items in an empty basket, she moved to the hearth. “Wonderful,” she muttered, realizing there was a good chance she could catch her clothes or the kitchen on fire. Seeing a pan with a long, curved handle, Eve pulled it off the hook. Placing the pan on the iron grate, she tapped her finger to her mouth in thought. “Do you have butter or another form of fat?”
Glenna handed her a small earthenware container.
Lifting the lid, Eve didn’t want to know where the fat came from. She scooped out a small portion with her knife, before almost shoving it back to the woman. Going to work on her meal, she wished she had her camera to take a picture of herself cooking in this fashion. The aroma of onions and mushrooms filled the room, and she sighed. Cracking the eggs into the mixture, she reached for a large wooden spoon and scrambled them within the pan. “Any salt?” she called out over her shoulder.