Celtic Peril (Celtic Storm Book 6)

by Ria Cantrell

  The other woman, Kiera, had handled things remarkably and Bronwyn had only hoped that she had not done anything to actually offend Richard to put the king off his interest in her. As timing would have it, Bronwyn went to see to the arrival of her daughter and her father, she nearly collided with that very woman.

  “I beg yer’ pardon, lass.”

  “You are in quite the hurry, Mother.” She said the last with a wink and smile.

  “Aye, Daughter. Indeed. T’would seem that yer’ twin sister has arrived back home.”

  “Jenna? Really? I can’t wait to meet her.”

  “Yes, well, thankfully the king is out with Drew inspecting our lands and fields. No doubt to garner more taxes from them. Mayhap, ye’ need to hide yerself until I can speak to my daughter about ye’.”

  “No, what better time to meet her. You said the king was out of the way. This should be interesting,” Kiera said wistfully.

  Outside of the initial adventure of getting to medieval Scotland and the one tortuous dinner with the king, Kiera was bored to tears. Well, it wasn’t that she was bored exactly, but she was left to her own devices and her thoughts were plagued with Derek locked in his tower. She needed a diversion to stop her from obsessing about the man she would not have met until seven hundred years had passed. When she thought of him, her heart ached and she just wanted to see if she could at least offer him words of hope to hold on to until her love could save him. Morag had been adamant about not seeking him out, but like denying a child a piece of candy, the more she knew she should not have it, the more she wanted it.

  Bronwyn did not think any of this would be interesting, and in fact, it was turning out to be worse than she had imagined. Turning to face the woman who looked so much like her daughter she had to ask the question that was burning in her mind. “I noticed the king seemed to not flirt with ye’ any longer. Ye’ did nay….”

  Kiera smiled and said, “No. I did nothing to offend him; at least I think so anyway. He is a man who quickly tires of one thing after another. I suppose his interest in me was equally rapidly lost. I know in history it mattered not with some monarchs if one was engaged or even married, but this one seemed to not wish to take another man’s woman.”

  “Another man’s woman? He knows ye’ are wed?”

  “No, but he thinks I have been betrothed.”

  Bronwyn was beginning to get a dull ache in her head again from all the stress of the past few weeks. She rubbed her temples with her fingers and she said, “And why would he think that?”

  “Because I told him I was.”

  Bronwyn sighed and said, “And just who is Jenna supposed to be betrothed to?”

  “Why, none other than our friend here. My beloved cousin Tommy.”

  “Tommy? Ye’ mean Tavish? Girl do ye’ know what ye’ have done? What if the king deems that marriage to be performed while he is here to prove it?”

  Bronwyn thought her head was going to explode. Kiera felt badly about what she had just told the lady. She had not intended to upset her host and she forgot that things were quite different in the middle ages. She had only meant to help save Bronwyn’s daughter from an unwanted situation with this insipid and childish king.

  Admonished, Kiera replied, “I meant no harm. I only tried to help. I certainly did not want to become the king’s mistress and I thought the whole point of me being here was to prevent your daughter from becoming just that, as well. Once it seemed that the king was easily led from one thing to another, I just thought that telling him I was betrothed or rather that Jenna was betrothed, that he would move on and leave her alone. Truth be told, my lady, he is quite an asshole.”

  Bronwyn was momentarily scandalized by the bold way this woman spoke, but she had to smile, despite the situation at hand. Perhaps women from the future spoke what many women just held in their thoughts. Even though Bronwyn would never state such a thing, the thought had crossed her mind a time or two, since receiving the missive of the king’s arrival.

  She could not give it much more time to ponder because the gates were being opened and she needed to deal with the arrival of her daughter and her father. Turning to Kiera, she said, “Please just wait here.”

  Kiera nodded, not wishing to cause any more trouble but her curiosity about the woman who had been the reason for her journey through time was peeked. It was going to be interesting to see how this would play out.

  ~~~~~

  Tom wandered through the keep. Now that he was no longer a prisoner, he took the opportunity to explore the ancient stone edifice that held secrets of history locked within its walls like a delicious treasure. It was one thing to read about it, but now he was getting to experience it first-hand. He realized and understood why he had always been fascinated with things of the distant past; he was part of it or rather it was really part of who he was.

  There were still many people milling in and out of the castle, so Tom’s presence was not questioned by anyone. He spoke little to people, but offered smiles or bows as he sought to familiarize himself with the many rooms and corridors. His stomach grumbled, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten yet. He could really use a strong cup of coffee, but he knew that wasn’t going to happen. Still, the aromas of freshly baked bread and food cooking made Tom realize just how hungry he was. First, breakfast and then on to seek the prizes of the past!

  Tom noticed a flurry of activity out in the castle yard, but he was not taken from his task of finding something wonderful to eat. He went to the great hall and seated himself down at a trestle table where there were not too many people gathered. He nodded at the bleary-eyed guest that probably had had too much to drink at the previous night’s revels. The man sat nursing a mug of ale and he picked at his trencher; that was filled with a hunk of bread and some sort of stew.

  Tom had not been sitting there very long, when a lovely looking maid approached, carrying a tray of meats, quail eggs and a loaf of brown bread. In her other hand, she held two tankards of ale. She had a pitcher tucked under her arm and Tom had to smile at her. She would do great as a waitress, he thought.

  The girl set down the tray and she said for Tom to pick what he wanted. He chose several boiled quail eggs, a wedge of cheese and a piece of that mouthwatering bread. She handed him an ale and he asked, “Might I have some of that water, instead?”

  She giggled at his accent and poured him a cup of water. Taking her tray in hand, she left Thomas to eat in peace. His dining companion had finished his ale, leaving his stew and bread, and ambled out of the great room. Tom did not mind in the least. It gave him the opportunity to people-watch and it was proving to be quite entertaining.

  As he swallowed down a bite of cheese and bread with the cool water, Tom noticed there seemed to be a bit of a scuffle happening toward one of the great stone fireplaces. A dark haired man, dressed in the king’s livery was arguing heatedly with a teenage boy. The boy looked terrified and Tom could see the king’s man becoming more agitated. He was in a complete tirade by the time Tom finished his breakfast and when the man raised a gloved hand and struck the boy, Tom could not sit by and watch. He rose quickly and went to aid the boy who had tumbled to the floor from the force of the blow. A thin trickle of blood oozed from the bottom of the child’s lip. Tom knew he should mind his own business, because things were very different in these days, but he could not allow the abuse to continue on the youth. The man was about to kick the fallen boy when Tom stepped before him.

  “Out of my way, dolt.”

  Tom stood his ground and eyed the man levelly. There was something creepy about the guy. His dark hair hung greasily about his forehead and his face had mottled in blotches from his simmering anger.

  “Pardon, sir, but the lad is hurt.”

  “T’is no concern of yours. He is my squire and it is my right to chastise him.”

  Tom knew that to be true, but the lad was rail-thin and would end up with broken bones if the slimy creep kicked him with his steel-tipped boot, as it seemed he had int
ended. The young squire wiped the blood that dripped from the cut on his lip. His eyes were wide and Tom could tell that he feared the man who had dealt the blow to him.

  “Perhaps, I can be of assistance to you.”

  “Can you? Are you privy to the king’s comings and goings?”

  “No but…”

  “I thought not. You dare to interfere with the king’s counsel for some pitiful excuse of a squire?”

  “Well, I only thought that the lad was hurt. I wondered perhaps if there was something I could do to help.”

  The man sneered with disdain at Tom. A glare of unabashed malice met Tom’s gaze.

  “Really? T’is not likely I will ever need the help from a filthy Scot,” he spat.

  Those words hit Tom like a blow and even though he had not considered himself Scottish in the past, his recent revelations made him stand taller at the hateful words of the offending man. Tom wasn’t prone to bouts of fighting, but he suddenly wanted to punch the disgusting slug right in the nose. The man turned away and shouted over his shoulder, “Get to the stables and prepare my horse.” And without giving Thomas another glance, he stalked off.

  Tom gave the young boy his hand and helped him off of the ground. “You should not have spoken so to m’lord, sir.”

  “Well, I could not have him continuing to hurt you while you were on the floor.”

  The boy looked down and said, “He will only be angrier for it.”

  “Does he hurt you often?”

  “T’is his right. I am his squire. He beats me to teach me to be a strong warrior, like him.”

  “He beats you?”

  “Aye, sir. T’is the master’s right,” the lad repeated. Despite being a “medieval” man himself, Tom could not wrap his mind around the brutality that was ever present in this time. Nor could he condone unnecessary violence perpetrated against a child. No matter how long he stayed in this time or embraced his medieval roots, Tom would never get used to this sort of life.

  Tamping down his rising anger at the man who showed no kindness to the young lad, Tom asked, “What is your master’s name?”

  “Sir?”

  The youth looked shocked at Tom’s lack of knowledge. The expression on his face seemed to say that everyone surely knew his master. “Why, t’is the king’s chancellor, Master de la Pole, Sir.”

  Tom’s blood ran cold. De la Pole! He might have known. Tom masked his features and he patted the boy’s shoulder and said, “If you have need of my help, I am known as Tavish MacCollum. These good people here are my kin. Remember my name.”

  The boy seemed confused but did not have time to ponder it further, because Tom had moved away to follow that slimy bastard de la Pole more closely. The man seemed to have slipped into the throngs of people and Tom could not find him. He recalled what Morag had warned him about, and so he would not tell anyone what he knew; at least not yet, but that did not mean that he would refrain from making it his duty to try to keep an eye on the man at his every chance.

  Tom pushed his way out into the courtyard and outer bailey, trying to see if he could locate that traitorous scum, only to be jostled and detained by a small riding party that had just gained entry into the yard. An imposing and distinguished looking Scot, who Tom gathered to be about 70 or so years old, dismounted his horse and stood as straight and strong as a man much younger in years. While the man had age under his belt, he was not without authority. His bearings were that of a powerful warrior and Tom was instantly drawn to the eyes of the man which bespoke of wisdom. Despite the apparent potency that once was the man’s strength, there was a look of kindness in his expression as he raised his arms to help a woman off of her own mount. It was obvious that this was someone the man loved very much because as his eyes settled upon the woman, the old warrior’s features softened noticeably. As the hood of her dark cloak fell back, Tom got a better look at her. She was more beautiful in person than the spectral images of his dreams.

  It was her! The wind seemed to whisper her name in Tom’s ear. Jenna.

  ~

  Chapter Thirty-Five ~

  Jenna felt the strong arms of her grandfather gently easing her down from her horse. It was a comforting embrace that she was grateful for at this time, for surely there was going to be hell to pay for her foolishness. Somehow, feeling his strength gave her the courage to face what she knew she must. As her feet touched the cobbled stones in the courtyard of her childhood home, she felt a shift in the air, like suddenly her innocent youth was truly a thing that lived in the past. It was time to face her family and the destiny that waited within the castle walls.

  Shoring herself up for the task, she looked up into the kindly weathered face of her grandfather. She clasped his hand and he winked at her. “I’ll be right here with ye’, lassie.”

  Tears filled her eyes. She loved her grandfather so much. He was her strength and her dearest ally, besides her own beloved father. She did not know why she was filled with emotion all of a sudden. She supposed it was because she had finally given up her childish recklessness and that realization made Caleb’s presence all the more cherished.

  Hugging Caleb tightly, she said, “I love ye’, grandda’.”

  “Ach, lassie, I know it. Come now, let’s face yer’ mum and get it over with, shall we? Dunna’ worry, my Heart. She is my daughter and I am nay without my rights to scold her.”

  The idea of Caleb chastising her mother brought a smile to Jenna’s face and she brushed the tears off her cheeks and leaned up to kiss her grandfather again. She turned and began trying to meander through the many people that stood about in the bailey, only focused on facing her parents. As she moved through the crowd, she barely noticed those she passed until she got to the entrance of the keep. She dropped her grandfather’s hand and she stopped completely, almost causing Caleb to slam into her, as he had been following closely behind her.

  There, framed in the archway of the great doors, was the man who had invaded her dreams. It was as if she was remembering times long forgotten of when he was there. Had he always been there? It seemed unreal to ponder but suddenly, it was as if he had always been in her dreams; much more than just the past few nights since the Samhain celebration in MacDougal territory. As their eyes met, she murmured in disbelief, “It’s you.”

  ~~~~~

  Tom felt the world tilt beneath his feet. What the hell was happening to him? He certainly did not want to careen to the ground as he had done when he had first seen her picture in the great hall of Kiera’s and Derek’s home. He steadied himself and he tried not to appear to falter in front of the beauty that had been present in his mind like an obsession since he had first noticed her painting. She was really there; standing in front of him and after her initial look of surprise he heard her speak to him. She recognized him. Perhaps it hadn’t been a dream after all. He heard her say, “It’s you.” Those were words of acknowledgment. She remembered him. She knew him.

  He knew he had to say something; anything, but his voice stuck in his throat. He had never been shy around beautiful women and he had more than enjoyed flirting, among other things. But as Jenna Brandham stood before him, Tom could only fight to find a word; any word to say to her. What finally came out sounded strained and raspy. Gone was his deep and lovely voice that had earned him a spot with the prestigious Celtic Storm. Instead, he croaked, “Aye. It is.”

  Brilliant conversationalist, Tom. Way to go! Good-oh. Tom chastised himself for his less than stellar reply. This was ridiculous! He was used to performing on stages before thousands of people. Why could he not form simple words in the presence of this woman? She was looking at him with both caution and intrigue. Why did she know him? The thing was, Tom felt like she was actually relieved to see him; that is after the initial shock that registered like the pages of a book on her face when she had seen him standing there.

  Tom wanted to take her into his arms and kiss her, but the imposing older man was close at her side. He leaned down and whispered something
Tom could not hear.

  “Yer’ mysterious swain, I take it?”

  Tom saw Jenna blush deeply, but she nodded her response to the man.

  “Hmm, I can see why he intrigues ye’, lassie.”

  Jenna turned toward the man and said, “Grandfather, please.”

  So, it was her grandfather; the legendary laird of the clan MacCollum. Tom could guess that he was a force to be reckoned with in his heyday. Hell, he was pretty formidable now, even though he was on in years.

  Tom shook himself from his mute stupidity. He took the girl’s hand in his and he brought it to his lips. “My lady,” he said formally. Jenna felt a charge race through her at the feel of his lips touching the back of her hand. As he lowered her fingers, she grasped at his wrist and she gently turned his hand over to inspect his knuckles. Sure enough, they were bruised and torn; old blood dried to scabbing from a recent injury.

  “How--how did ye’ hurt yer’ hand, Tavish?”

  “I believe you know, m’lady.”

  Jenna just nodded. Without thinking, she brought those damaged knuckles to her own lips and placed a gentle kiss upon them.

  Clearing his throat loudly, and muscling between his granddaughter and the man, Caleb said, “I dunna’ believe I have made yer’ acquaintance. I am Laird Caleb MacCollum, and this is my granddaughter, Jenna Brandham. How is it that ye’ know my lassie?”

  Tom swallowed deeply, trying desperately to regain the strong timbre of his voice and he said, “You would not believe me if I told you.”