by Katy Baker
"American?" He said the word as if trying it out. "Canna say I've ever heard of an American before."
He was mocking her, surely? "Right. Of course you haven’t. Whatever you say."
They lapsed into silence and Lucy looked around as they rode, searching for any sign of Irene MacAskill. The land started to become cultivated with low stone walls slicing the countryside into fields dotted with sheep. She spotted a cottage in the distance. It was crudely made from blocks of stone and had a thatched roof. A large farm yard surrounded it filled with chickens and honking geese. A man and a woman worked in the yard, the man chopping wood, the woman sat on a stool washing clothes in a wooden bucket.
The two looked up and saw Harris and Lucy approaching. They straightened hastily, the woman smoothing down her dress. The man bobbed his head respectfully.
"Good afternoon to ye, laird."
Harris inclined his head the barest fraction as they rode by.
Lucy frowned. The two farmers had seemed wary, afraid even. She thought back to Seamus' words concerning the laird of these lands. A cruel man feared by the tenants, Seamus had claimed. Was Seamus right? And was Lucy making a huge mistake by going with him?
The crofters wore traditional gear, the woman wearing a long flowing dress made of linen and the man in cotton pants and a traditional plaid. Seamus had worn similar clothing. And even Harris wore the same although his seemed to be a better quality than the others.
Did everyone on the Isle of Skye still wear traditional Scottish dress? Lucy didn't know enough about the place to make any conclusions but it struck her as a little weird. And then there was the sword Harris carried. Who the hell had a sword these days?
The thoughts were interrupted by Harris pulling the horse to a halt. Ahead of them, the land fell away in a deep cliff. A switch back trail led down the cliff side to a beach below. The beach itself was a tangle of tumbled rocks and shining golden sand. On the other side of the beach another cliff rose, with another trail leading up the side. And on top of this sat a huge castle.
"Dun Arnwick,” Harris said.
Lucy stared, the blood draining from her face. What the hell was this? She’d expected Dun Arnwick to be a town. She’d expected roads and houses and shops. Instead this place looked like it belonged in a movie set.
She blinked. The chapel. The local’s clothing. Harris's sword. The farmer’s tumbledown cottage.
And Seamus saying, King James of course. He succeeded his father to the throne in the Year of Our Lord 1513.
Lucy cleared her throat. "Can I ask you a question?"
“Aye. What is it?”
She looked at Harris. "What year is this?"
He frowned as though he suspected she was making fun of him. "I dinna have time for ridiculous questions.”
“Please. I need to know.”
He pressed his lips into a flat line. Then he sighed. “1515, lass. What year did ye expect it to be?”
Lucy didn't answer. She felt suddenly dizzy and would have swooned had Harris's arms not tightened around her. This couldn't be happening. It couldn't. Irene MacAskill hadn't kidnapped her after all.
She'd sent her back in time.
Chapter 6
LUCY WATCHED AS THE castle grew steadily closer. What awaited her inside that keep? Wild fancies of being locked in a dungeon filled her mind.
“This is probably a stupid question but I don’t suppose you have a local police officer do you?" she asked.
"Police officer? I dinna ken the word, lass. Is it ‘American’?”
At any other time she might have laughed at his confusion. This time she only shook her head. "It means law man. Or law keeper."
"I see. The king is the ultimate keeper of justice. But on my lands, I administer justice on his behalf. So I suppose I am the law."
Lucy didn't much like the sound of that. She bit her lip and tried to keep calm as they made their way down the switchback trail, along the beach and then up the path on the other side towards two towering gates set in the curtain wall. Two guards dressed in the same kind of plaid as Harris stood in front. They took one look at Harris and nodded respectfully.
“Welcome home, lord.”
Harris gave them the barest nod and then rode through the gates and into the courtyard. It was made of cobblestones and bigger than Lucy expected. Several buildings filled the space around a keep that rose from the center. From one such building came the sound of hammering metal, from another the stamp of horses. The area was kept meticulously clean and even as Lucy watched a couple of servants hurried down the steps from the keep, curtsied nervously to Harris, and began sweeping the flagstones with brushes of bundled birch twigs.
Harris pulled the horse to a halt and climbed from the saddle. He reached up to help Lucy down but she ignored his proffered hand. She'd be damned if she'd let him think she needed his aid. She gripped the pommel of the saddle and swung her legs over, jumping down on the side opposite Harris. She felt a little flush of satisfaction at the frown that crossed his features.
“Laird Andrew!” a high-pitched voice cried suddenly. A boy of around ten years came pelting over. He skidded to a halt in front of Harris, a big grin splitting his face. “She’s had them, laird! She’s had her puppies! I told ye it would be today, didnae I? Will ye come see them?”
“Aye, Jamie,” Harris replied. “But nay right now. I’ve got business to see to.”
The boy’s eyes traveled to Lucy and his mouth dropped open. “I’m Jamie,” he announced. “Who are ye?”
“Jamie!” Harris said. “It isnae polite to speak so. This is Lady Lucy Jennings and she’ll be staying with us for a while.”
Jamie’s cheeks turned pink and he gave a good approximation of a bow. “Ye are mighty beautiful, Lady Jennings. Dinna ye think so, laird?” Without pausing he continued, “My dog’s had puppies. Would ye like to come see them, Lady Lucy?”
Lucy, a little flustered, opened her mouth to speak but Harris came to her rescue.
“That’s enough, Jamie. Let the lady get settled in before ye start pestering her. Now, run along and tell Mona and Dougie I’ve returned will ye?”
Jamie nodded and pelted up the steps. A man dressed in warrior’s garb approached across the courtyard from the direction of the stables. Slightly older than Harris, he had a scar across his nose and that bowlegged gait that suggested a man who spent a lot of time in the saddle.
He nodded to Harris, "Laird.”
His gaze skipped over Lucy, took in her evening dress, the watch, and her jewelry and seemed to reach the same conclusion as Harris and Seamus had done. "My lady."
"Report," Harris barked.
"All seems quiet, my laird. There was a small fire at Rollins Croft but the alarm was sounded in time to save most of the buildings and nobody was hurt. There are rumors of the Garricks stirring up trouble with their neighbors, something about claiming land along the southern border."
"There are always rumors surrounding the Garricks, Captain," Harris replied. "I’d thank ye not to bother me with such gossip unless ye have evidence."
The captain paled. "Aye, laird. How was yer mission? Did ye find any evidence of the horse thieves?"
Harris's eyes flicked to Lucy. "Aye, I found more than evidence. I came upon the scoundrel himself and would have captured both him and the horses had he not had help to escape."
Lucy’s heart began to thump as the two men's eyes fixed on her. Their stares were hard and cold.
"Lady Jennings will be held here until I can get to the bottom of this,” Harris said. “Send for Angus and Lily. They saw the raid and should be able to confirm Lady Jennings’ part in it."
"But they'll be up on the high pastures by now. It will take them several days to get here."
"Then ye'd better send word immediately, hadn't ye?" Harris snapped. "Take Lady Jennings inside."
The captain nodded. "I'll see she's escorted to the cells."
"No," Harris said, holding up a hand. "Not the cells. Take
her to one of the guest rooms.”
The captain's eyebrows rose but he merely gave his laird a small bow and then took Lucy by the elbow. "This way, my lady."
“I can walk on my own," she said, yanking her arm from his grip. "I don't need leading like some child."
The captain frowned. "This way then."
Lucy followed as the captain led her up the steps and through the wide doors of the keep. She paused momentarily and glanced back. Andrew Harris was watching her, an unreadable expression on his face.
He opened his mouth and for a moment it seemed he might speak, might call her back. Then he shook his head and looked away.
The captain led Lucy through a stone-flagged vestibule, up a set of stone steps and through a series of corridors until they reached a stout wooden door. He unlocked the door and ushered her inside. Lucy found herself in a large bedroom. Far from being a cell, this was done out in lavish opulence. A four-poster bed filled most of the space and there was a dresser and a wardrobe against the wall. Tall windows flooded the room with light under which two ladder-back chairs were placed.
"Ye'll remain here until Laird Andrew says otherwise," said the captain. Then, without waiting for a reply, he turned and left, pulling the door shut behind him. Lucy heard the turning of a lock.
As soon as she was alone, Lucy’s legs gave way and she staggered, catching herself on the edge of the bed. The enormity of the situation came crashing in. She was stranded hundreds of years from home in a strange place, surrounded by strangers.
She threw herself on the bed and burst into tears.
ANDREW WATCHED LUCY walk up the steps. She had her shoulders pulled back and her chin lifted, proud and defiant. At the top, she paused and their gazes met. Andrew's heartbeat quickened. For a second he almost called out to her to come back but then she was turning away and following Captain Donal into the keep.
He frowned. Today had been mighty strange. First, he’d run into Irene MacAskill on the road and she'd given him that cryptic message. Then he'd found the horse thief only to be thwarted by a lass. And what a lass she was. An outlander, that much was clear, with an odd way of talking and an odd way of behaving. Yet she was dressed in finery that suggested she was a lady, even if she denied it. Yet why would a lady be aiding a horse thief? It made no sense.
For that matter, Lucy Jennings made no sense. Her story. Her background. Her being here at all. Yet when he’d caught her as she stumbled earlier he'd felt... something. Something he couldn't quite describe in words.
He gritted his teeth. This was no good. He shouldn't be even thinking these thoughts. She must be a fraud, a trickster. There was no other explanation. For all he knew the finery was stolen, part of a disguise in order to throw him off the scent. No doubt she was hoping to dupe him into believing her story.
Well, Andrew Harris wouldn't be duped. He wouldn't trust a word she said until he had proof. He’d learned that lesson the hard way. What had trust gotten him in the past? A whole lot of pain that's what.
One of the servants approached. Her eyes were downcast meekly and she was carrying a goblet. "Would ye care for ale, my laird?” she asked.
Andrew realized he was scowling and forced his face to relax. He snatched the goblet, downed the ale in one and then shoved it back into the girl's hands. Then, sucking in a deep breath, he hurried up the steps and threw open the doors at the top. He barged into the Great Hall and looked around.
Over at the warrior’s table a group of his men were laughing at a raucous joke. At the sight of him, they fell into silence. Good. Didn’t they realize they needed to set an example? To show discipline and restraint? He’d not have warriors of his idling their time away telling jokes and playing dice. Not when there was a clan to protect.
“Go find Captain Donal,” he said to them. “Tell him I sent ye to be put to use. Ye’ve obviously got too much time on yer hands.”
They scrambled to their feet with a muttered, “Aye, laird,” and hurried out.
Andrew stalked over to the head table, taking his place in the laird's chair. As always when in the Great Hall, he found memories crashing upon him. This had been his father's chair, the one to the left, his mother’s. The one on the right had been Andrew's own when he was younger. He'd sat at this table by his father’s side more times than he could remember.
Those memories were full of light and laughter. His parents and his brothers had sat here with them and the hall had been filled with the Harris clan. Now the hall was all but empty and he sat alone at the great table. His eyes were pulled to the ceiling where it met the timbers supporting the roof. Even now, so many years later, there was a dark stain there. It was soot, so ingrained it had become part of the stone and Andrew had ordered that it never be cleaned away.
It served as a permanent reminder of his shame. Of the choice that had cost him everything.
“Ah, yer back, laddie,” a voice said. Old Dougie, the steward, pulled back a chair and sat down next to Andrew.
Andrew scowled at him but as always, Dougie took no notice. He’d been Andrew’s father’s steward and had known Andrew since he was a bairn. He was one of the few people who showed no nervousness around Andrew. And no respect either. Andrew didn’t know why he put up with it.
“Looks that way,” he growled.
“I see yer temper hasnae improved while ye’ve been out riding. What’s this I hear of ye bringing a lass back with ye? There are easier ways to find a wife, lad! The Harris’s havenae been into stealing women for centuries!”
Andrew bridled. He wouldn’t have people saying things like that about Lucy. No matter whether she was a criminal or not, she deserved respect.
“Her name is Lady Lucy Jennings, and I’ll thank ye not to speak out of turn about a lady.”
Dougie held up his hands. “My apologies, lad. I was only having a joke with ye.”
“Aye, well, I’m nay in the mood.”
Dougie gave him a look that suggested he thought Andrew was never in the mood but dropped the matter. Instead, he placed a piece of parchment on the table and unrolled it, holding it down at each end with a candlestick.
“What’s this?”
“Yer duties for today, of course. I’ve made the list as short as I could manage.”
Andrew groaned inwardly. He felt the weight of responsibility settling around him like a stone overcoat. He didn’t feel strong enough to bear it. He didn’t feel worthy to bear it.
“All right,” he said. “What’s first?”
Chapter 7
LUCY WAS WOKEN BY A loud knocking. She hadn’t realized she’d fallen asleep. She scrambled off the bed as the door slowly swung open.
She’d expected a guardsman but two women poked their heads inside. One was around Lucy’s age with corn-yellow hair caught in a bun at the back of her head, the other was older with rosy cheeks and a matronly way about her. They took in Lucy’s disheveled hair and tear-stained cheeks then shared a look.
“This will never do,” the older one pronounced.
The two women stepped inside, shutting the door firmly behind them. They curtsied to Lucy.
“My name is Mona,” the older one said. “I’m the housekeeper here at Dun Arnwick, and this here is Aniss. She’ll be yer maid while ye stay with us.”
“Pleased to meet ye, my lady,” Aniss said.
Lucy stared at them. They waited, as if expecting a reply. When none was forthcoming, they glanced at each other and then Mona gestured to Lucy’s clothes.
“Would ye like to change? I hear ye’ve traveled far to get here. Perhaps a bath and a change of clothes would make ye feel more at home?”
More at home? How on earth could she feel more at home?
Lucy blinked. “I...um....”
Aniss, the younger of the two, stepped forward. “Yes, my lady?”
“I’m not a lady. My name’s Lucy. Lucy Jennings.”
Aniss smiled. “Aye, the laird told us yer name. We’re here to make ye comfortable. How may we help ye
, Lady Jennings?”
“No, not Lady Jennings. Just Lucy.”
Aniss nodded. “Very well. Lucy. How about ye let Mona and I take care of ye? Ye must be tired and exhausted after yer travels?”
Lucy stared dumbly.
Mona clapped her hands. “Right.” She opened the door and bellowed some orders into the corridor.
Aniss bade Lucy to sit whilst she pulled the pins out of her hair and began brushing it. She had a gentle touch and she hummed to herself as she worked.
“Why are you being so kind to me?” Lucy asked.
Aniss looked startled. “Why wouldn’t we?”
“I’m a prisoner. Has Laird Harris not told you?”
Aniss’s lips pressed into a hard, flat line. Mona crossed her arms and loomed behind Lucy.
“Aye,” the housekeeper said. “He’s told us, but prisoner or no, ye are still a guest in this house and will be treated as such.”
There was a knock on the door and a stream of serving lads and lasses bustled in carrying a large tub and buckets of water.
“Over there, if ye please,” Mona instructed.
The tub was set down under the window and the buckets emptied into it. Mona sprinkled something into the water and the lovely smell of lavender stole through the room. Mona chased the serving staff out and turned back to Lucy.
“I must apologize for ye being confined, my lady. Lucy, I mean. Our laird takes his duty to his clan very seriously. I’m sure it will all sort itself out. He’s a good lad, really.”
Lucy snorted at that. A good lad? He was a short-tempered bully as far as Lucy could see.
Mona put her hands on her hips and bit her lip in thought. She reminded Lucy of Aunt Helen. She carried that same calm authority, that same determined air. The comparison brought painful thoughts. What were Aunt Helen and Uncle Nathan doing right now? Watching TV together? Sitting down to dinner? Bickering in their good-natured way?
"Ye must be hungry after yer journey, my dear,” Mona said. “I'll go speak to the kitchen staff and rustle up something for ye to eat. In the meantime, Aniss will take good care of ye."