Kris laid the timepiece on the table and snuggled down beneath the covers, the hauntingly beautiful tune from the watch still playing. As she drifted off to sleep, the inscription floated through her head.
Chapter Three
The bright sun shining through the window woke Kris. Her head pounded and her muscles ached with a weighted down feeling. Groaning, she rolled onto her back. Her mouth tasted nasty, is if something had crawled inside and died. She hadn't felt this bad since she and Hailey had taken Kris' younger sister, Aleksa to a bar in Boston to celebrate Aleksa's twenty-first birthday. They had all overindulged in Kris' favorite drink, Sex On The Beach.
She pulled herself up, her moves slow. Even that small movement caused her head to spin and her stomach to turn and roll. Her hand went to her head in an effort to stop the whirling and buzzing inside. Had she gotten too much sun yesterday?
She started to shake her head then stopped at the pain that shot through her temples. Sunstroke wouldn't make her limbs feel like lead, or her muscles ache as they did. She hoped she wasn't coming down with a cold, or worse, the flu. Talk about a vacation killer.
She struggled into a more upright position and tried to recall her dream. Her stomach proceeded to do hula-hoops when she moved, but she took it easy and was able to sit up.
The more she struggled to remember her dream, the more elusive it became. She had the sense that she'd floated on the air for a time, accompanied by an odd sense of inertia, followed by a loud thunderstorm. She also had a vague recollection of a forest almost like the one in her previous dreams. Only this time she'd been in the forest, not just standing at its edge.
"Wow, talk about crazy," she whispered, her throat dry and scratchy. She put her hand to her head again, hoping to stop its continued spinning. Being in the wilds of Scotland made her ready to believe anything. Things wilder and rooted deeper than anything she'd experienced before. Things stronger and more vital and less tamed. It brought back all the fanciful imaginings she had as a child while listening to her grandmother's tales. Those stories led to fantasies and daydreams of a handsome wild highlander carrying her off and loving her. A man like Iain. "Yeah, right, like that'll ever happen."
She pushed her long bangs out of her eyes. She needed coffee and two aspirin. She hoped the combination of the two would help to clear her head. She glanced at her wristwatch, surprised to see that it was nearly eleven o'clock. Damn! She'd even slept as if she had a hangover.
Baffled, she swung her legs over the side of the bed, going easy to keep the room from spinning any more. She knew she'd not had more than one glass of wine with dinner last evening, so it couldn't be that.
"So, ye are finally awake are ye?" Kris jumped when the door to her room swung open to admit an elderly woman. The woman laid the bundle she carried on the table and poked at the fire that crackled in the huge fireplace.
Kris was positive she'd never seen the woman before; she was pretty certain she'd have recognized the woman's authentic seventeenth century clothing and long graying hair. Though it was tied in a braid, it reached nearly to her waist. When she turned to face Kris, her dark brown eyes showed concern as well as curiosity.
Mr. MacGregor did try to make everything as genuine and authentic to the time period as possible, but the woman had spoken in Gaelic.
"How are you feeling this lovely morning, lassie?" Her voice was younger than her appearance.
"Who are you?" Kris realized that was rude, but couldn't stop herself from blurting it out anyway.
"The more appropriate question would be--who are ye?" A male voice inquired from the doorway.
Kris started to turn toward that all too familiar voice, not certain if she dared to draw a breath. It could not be possible she thought and closed her eyes, trepidation making her afraid to look.
Don't be silly, she scolded, and opened her eyes, only to feel them widen to impossible proportions as her mouth dropped open and the blood drained from her face.
As her eyes met his, the shock that resonated through her made her brain go numb. A queasy feeling in her stomach, along with a tingling sensation started at the tips of fingers, and spread through her body.
She looked into the face of none other than Iain MacGregor.
Kris to the next logical thing--she gave into the blackness that called at the edges of her mind and fainted—with a welcoming sigh.
* * *
"By all the bloody saints, how am I to question her if she up and swoons on me?" Iain looked to Elsbeth.
"What did ye expect, Laird?" Elsbeth answered, his disgruntled expression making her laugh. "Ye come barging in the room with that great booming voice of yours and scare the poor wee lass out of her wits."
"I must question her." Iain said matter-of-factly, and walked over to the girl for a closer look.
Elsbeth's son, Raibert, had found her early this morning wandering about the woods behind the Castle. Raibert had called to her, but she'd run like a frightened rabbit. When she tripped and knocked herself unconscious on a rock, Raibert brought her to the keep.
Whoever she was, she was adorable. Her heart-shaped face had high cheekbones and a strong chin that hinted towards stubbornness. The strange garment she wore only covered her to just below the hips, offering him just enough view of her legs to stir his interest. Not that he'd be interested. Most women, he'd found, were nothing but trouble, and that was something he didn't need any more of. He had that and more in abundance at the moment.
He tore his gaze away from the tantalizing sight and refocused on her face. It was a face that held both delicacy and strength. Her bright auburn hair, though disheveled, gleamed with shadows of deep gold and rich red. The colors contrasted sharply with the dark, sooty lashes framing her eyes. Iain had to fight the sudden urge to reach out and touch her, just to see if her skin was as soft as it looked. Surprised by the urge, he clasped his hands behind his back as he continued to gaze at her.
"Laird." Elsbeth stood beside him, hands on her hips.
"Oh, aye." He grimaced, feeling like a lad with his hand caught in the sweetmeats.
Elsbeth was like a second màthair to him, and she had the uncanny knack to make him feel like a lad not even out of breaches yet. His own màthair had been unable to feed him, so Elsbeth had become his, and later his sister's, wet-nurse. She'd then stayed at the keep as a companion to his màthair.
Elsbeth cleared her throat again and Iain stepped out of her way, but his gaze lingered on the lass. Who was she anyway, and where had she come from. He couldn't shake the feeling that he'd seen her before.
Raibert carried some kind of an odd-looking bag with him when he brought the lass here. He'd said he'd found it lying beside her. Perhaps it held something that would give Iain a clue or two as to who her clan was.
He watched his Elsbeth bathed the woman's face in cold water from the basin. Her long, dark lashes fluttered open as she began to waken.
"Wine please, Laird." Elsbeth held out her hand.
Iain grabbed the goblet on the table, splashed some wine into it, and handed it to her. Then he moved to the hearth, where he waited, a foot tapping with impatience, for Elsie to finish with the lass.
"There now lassie, sip it easy like." Elsbeth helped her to sit up a little and held the goblet for her.
Kris accepted the drink with a nod of appreciation. After several sips of the cool liquid, her head began to clear a bit. The woman offered her an arm and helped her as she struggled to sit in a more upright position.
Fear seized her again when she glanced toward the fireplace and saw him still there, arms crossed in front of him, legs spread, staring at her. Much as he had in that portrait of him. She'd hoped she'd dreamed it. How could this be happening? Maybe she was still dreaming. She handed the goblet back to the woman with shaking fingers and reached down too surreptitiously pinch herself. It hurt. This wasn't a dream! Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God!
"Whe-where am I?" Her voice shook with alarm. At a look from Iain, she scram
bled across the bed and tucked her knees to her chin, unsure what to expect next. She also wanted to put as much distance as possible between herself and that man. Had she been kidnapped?
"Ye are in MacGregor Castle, in Kinloch Rannoch." He stared at her as if she'd gone daft. "Do ye no' remember?"
There went the kidnapping idea. Too many late-night movies. It had been a long shot anyway, for she recognized the room, most of it at least. And of course, she remembered being in the keep in Kinloch Rannoch. She'd come to Scotland with her college class for some research, recreation and some well-deserved relaxation.
What she didn't remember where these two people and she especially didn't remember anyone in the castle who could pass for Iain MacGregor's twin.
Hearing his rich, deep voice and seeing him up close and personal as it were, he reminded her of a younger Sean Connery--on steroids. Kris shook her head to try to clear the confusion from her befuddled brain, which only served to make her head ache more.
"Do you remember anything at all, lass?" Kris swung her gaze back to the woman.
"Just vague bits. It all kinda seems like a dream, though." This can't be happening, she screamed inside. "Who are you?" She whispered, half in anticipation, half in to dread.
"I am Elsbeth, and this," she gestured to the very large man behind her, "is Iain MacGregor, Laird of clan MacGregor."
Kris clenched her hands until her nails dug into her palms. Her breath seemed to solidify in her throat. How could this be? Iain MacGregor had been dead for over 400 years; it wasn't possible for him to be standing in front of her. Yet there he was. She shook her head again and closed her eyes. She was still dreaming; she had to be. Although this was the most realistic dream she'd ever had.
"And who are ye?" Iain asked, his arms crossed in front of his massive chest making his arm muscles bulge a bit.
Kris' eyes flew open. "I--my name is..." she stopped. She could not tell this man who she was. What would he do to her if he found out she was a Campbell? She shuddered at the thought. Could she give him her màthair's maiden name? She at once nixed that idea. Without a doubt, that would raise even more questions. She couldn't deal with that just now, "my name is Kristianna." She whispered.
"Laird, she has a nasty bump on her head," Elsbeth stopped Iain before he could open his mouth to question her further, "and ye have already scared her witless. She needs to rest before ye question her any further."
Iain started to argue then stopped. "Aye, ye are probably right, Elsbeth." His gaze softened as he looked at the older woman, then grew hard again as it swung back in Kris' direction. "I shall return later for some answers." He strode to the door, but turned to give Kris one more severe glance, then stomped from the room, slamming the door behind him.
Kris stared after him, bewildered by his anger. She was the one who had the right to be upset. She wasn't even sure where she was, or who these people were. If this were another of those weird dreams, then she'd just as soon wake up. Even if she had to fall out of bed to do so. Anything had to be better than this.
If she remembered correctly from her research, however, people in the Highlands didn't always take to strangers. They were a somewhat suspicious group. The MacGregor's in particular had good cause for just distrust of strangers with all they'd been through for the past several hundred years. Even so, there was still that thing about Highland hospitality wasn't there?
"There ye are now, lassie, 'tis nothing to look so frightened about. The laird's growl may seem fierce, but I've ne'er known him to bite, particularly such a pretty lass as ye."
"I'm sure I must be a mess." Kris glanced at her hands, noting the dirt under her fingernails and the scrapes on her arms. "And I need to use the bathroom. Could you show me where it is?"
"We have no bathing chamber lass. The laird keeps promising us one, but he hasnae seen to it yet I'm afraid."
"Oh, I um, I need to relieve myself. I need to use the uh, garderobe." She tried again.
"Oh, of course, how silly of me. Just wait here a moment while I find something for ye to cover yourself wi'. Then I shall show ye to the garderobe."
Kris smiled her thanks and sat on the edge of the bed swinging her legs. Thank goodness they had a garderobe. No way did she want to have to use one of those nasty chamber pots. Although there was a privacy screen leaning against the far wall so there was probably one somewhere in the room. The wine helped settle her stomach, and calm the ache in her head somewhat. She let her gaze wander around the room as she waited. There was no other door in the room except the one Elsbeth had gone out. Odd. Yesterday a door led to the private bathroom she'd requested when she'd put in for the room. Now there was just a wall with a beautiful tapestry hanging on it depicting a knight holding his sword high, a slain dragon at his feet.
Elsbeth returned less than five minutes later carrying with her a long silk robe. "Here, lass, put this on and follow me."
Kris took the robe, thankful for something to cover her almost naked behind and followed the older woman out into the hallway. Down the corridor, in a small alcove, stood a rather plain looking door. Kris swung it open and gaped in surprise. The garderobe was nothing more than a large closet with a raised platform that hugged the far wall, a hole in the middle. That was supposed to serve as a toilet she supposed. Beside it were petals and green hay. Well, I guess you had to make due with whatever was handy.
Whew, the smell reminded her of the outhouse at her grandparent's camp in New Hampshire. She shuddered, took a deep breath, finished what she had to do, and got out of there as quick as she could. When she emerged, she saw Elsbeth standing against the far wall waiting for her.
"Feel better, lass?" She asked, a twinkle lighting her brown eyes.
"Oh yes, big-time."
Elsbeth gave her a funny look, but Kris ignored it. She followed Elsbeth back to her room, where she used a basin of water to wash her hands and face.
"Back into that bed with ye now," Elsbeth gently pushed Kris into the lumpy mattress, "just ye lie back down here and get ye some more rest. I shall return an hour or so with some nice broth for ye and some ointment for those cuts and scrapes ye have."
Kris didn't argue. Laying her head on the pillow, she closed her eyes. They snapped open again.
"Elsbeth?"
The woman stopped just as she opened the door, "Aye?"
"Could you tell me what year it is?" Kris asked half wishing that such an odd question hadn't just popped into her head. And she didn't like the uneasy feeling that came along with the question. She somehow knew she wasn't going to like the answer, but after seeing Iain MacGregor up close and personal, she had to know.
Elsbeth brows drew together in bafflement, than she shrugged, "'Tis the year of our Lord 1604, lass. Do ye nay remember?"
Kris shook her head. She knew if she tried to speak, she would scream. She lay back and closed her eyes. As soon as she heard the door click shut, she jumped out of the bed and started pacing the room, ignoring the pounding in her head.
This was not possible. No, this wasn't happening. It was some kind of strange dream. It had to be. It couldn't be what it appeared to be. She wasn't really in the seventeenth century. She couldn't be. To travel through time was pure fantasy.
Sure, it happened in books, and movies, but never in real life. She crossed to the window and gaze down toward where the town had been yesterday. Today there stood a small village of thatched roof houses with little gardens to the side of each. In the far distance, she could see the heather that dotted the hills along with the sheep and cattle grazing placidly. She pressed her forehead against the window, the cold class welcoming against her flushed skin.
Was it possible that she wasn't having another bizarre dream? That all of this was really happening?
It didn't have that dream-like quality to it at all. She reached up a hand to feel the bump on the back of her head and winced in pain. Well, the goose egg was real enough. She looked at the scrapes on her hands; they were genuine as were the scrat
ches on her legs and the small rip in her nightshirt.
She felt like Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz, only she hadn't landed over any rainbow to find munchkins, the good witch, Glenda, or wicked witches with monkey armies. She had landed over the rainbow to find a very real Iain MacGregor.
"Toto, I don't think we're in Kansas anymore." She giggled at her own quip then had to warn herself to be careful. She could easily tumble over the edge right into hysteria. She had to stay calm and think this through. There had to be some rational explanation. There was always a logical answer for everything. What that explanation could be, she wasn't sure, but somehow she'd find it.
Somehow.
She turned from the window and crawled back into the large bed, making it crunch beneath her. She would rest some more, and hope the knock on her skull hadn't caused a concussion. She prayed that when she awoke again, she'd find this had all been a nightmare brought on by too much sun, or the bump on her head. Anything except what it appeared to be.
Chapter Four
Iain strode into the great Hall, glancing about as he crossed the room. "Where is Raibert?" He bellowed to those in the Hall. Several heads came up, but the only response was a collective shrug. Iain threw them a disgruntled look as he strode to the table. "Someone find him," Iain roared, "now!"
"Ale," he grunted to a small kitchen maid who appeared beside him with a plate of food. He sat down hard in the Laird's chair and watched the people in the Hall scatter.
"Aye, Laird." She set the food on the table and threw him a saucy smile before disappearing into the kitchens. She returned a few moments later with a bottle. Iain waited until she filled his goblet then drained it in one long pull. He waved her away, and refilled the goblet himself but only stared into its contents. He rubbed a hand over his face and thought about the lass above stairs. Now he would have to take time to find where the lass had come from and send her home as soon as possible.
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