by Ria Cantrell
Why would she have such an effect on him? It was not like he had never bedded a beautiful lass before. He had more than his share of willing bedmates and this one clearly did not like him very much, despite the fact that she had warned him of the danger being set upon him. She had a terrible biting tongue and she was crass and brazen. She seemed to have no shame whatsoever when she stood before him in nothing more than scraps of cloth to cover her. She seemed to have little modesty at all.
Could it be that she was a wanton woman of loose morals? Jamie did not think so. He had no basis for that assumption, but it was too difficult to think that she was a harlot. Better to think she was from another time than to think terrible slander against her. Either that; or he would have to truly admit she was mad and madness was worse than her being a whore, was it not?
As Jamie watched her and her breathing was even and sound, he worried less about the dose Morag had given her. He put thoughts of her being mad or a whore out of his mind. Instead, he looked at her; really looked at her. She was more than just beautiful. She was alluring and Jamie wondered if that mystique came from her actually being from another time. Despite her cross tongue, Jamie was intrigued with her self-assurance and her bravery, even in the face of danger; even after being injured. She had shown great fortitude as arrows rained around them. He certainly liked that. A courageous woman would be an asset to the next in line for lairdship of the clan. Of course, Jamie had no desire to take on his father’s part and he still felt one of his other brothers was better suited to it, but if it were unavoidable, a woman like Sinead MacDougal could be someone who would fit well in the destined wife to the laird.
Wife! Now Jamie thought it was he who was addled. He had little intention of being a laird and absolutely no intention of wanting a wife. Wives had a tendency to muck things up. Even though one of his brothers was already wed and one betrothed, Jamie knew how love and marriage could change a man. It certainly had not done well for his brother Ruiri. Ruiri would never be the same after he lost his beautiful Caitlyn and Jamie could not blame him. Caitlyn had paid the price of being a MacCollum’s lady and Jamie was pretty certain he did not want that for any woman so it was better to steel his heart against love and take his pleasures when he had the need. Love was just too dangerous a thing to allow to roost in his heart.
But with all his rationalizations about the inconvenience of romance, as the woman lay sleeping in his bed, he could barely take his eyes from her. Despite all his doubts about who or what she was, Jamie wanted to see her. He wanted to speak to her and hear her voice. My God, he even wanted to kiss her, though he would deny such a desire to himself and to anyone who asked about it. She seemed much more amiable while she was asleep, he mused, without her saucy tongue declaring him to be an asshole. Jamie wished he could trust her. He wished he did not feel that she was a spy for the MacDougal, but as his doubts started creeping in she sighed in her sleep and he heard her murmur, “Jamie.” At that, all his walls came crumbling down. The sound of his name on her lips seemed to break his daydream and cast a spell all of its own.
He leaned down and whispered, “I’m here, lass. Yer’ safe now.”
He brushed a stray strand of her silken hair off her cheek and he pulled the fur over her shoulder, which peeked out at him in the most disarming way. She seemed to settle then, and as she slept deeply, Jamie broke from the tender reverie. She was a MacDougal. She was his enemy. There could never be anything between them except strife and conflict. He felt the bricks piling back up one by one around his guarded heart yet again. He stood up as regrets washed heavily upon him and he left his chambers. Just as he emerged through his doorway, he nearly collided with Morag. Her face instantly broke into a craggy smile and he wagged his finger at her saying, “Not one word, Old woman. Do not say one word.”
Morag shrugged and said, “I need nay say a thing. I was nay the one keeping vigil over her.”
“I was waiting for her to wake so I could question her. Nothing more.”
“Suit yerself,” Morag said, shrugging dramatically. “And has she been questioned?”
“She has not, as well ye’ know. She is still sleeping from that witch’s brew ye’ gave her.”
Morag was not offended by Jamie’s caustic response. At least he had the fortitude to say the word to her face. She knew that his ire was due to the fact that his heart was telling him to care about the woman in his bed and his head was telling him to run. Ah, but he would try, but Morag would try harder to make him see the truth. She just laughed at his comment and let herself into his chambers to check on the girl.
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By the time Jamie got down to the main hall, he was in quite ill humor. He thought that perhaps a few tankards of ale would settle his thoughts and quell the rising temper he felt at the situation. He really should be concerning himself with what he knew so far; that the MacDougals and possibly the MacKenzies wanted him dead for some reason. Jamie was pretty sure he knew the reason. He was his father’s heir and though it was not a role he readily wanted, if the time came, he would accept his lot.
The bigger question was why did these rival clans want to forge a blood feud? This had gone beyond the raiding and the thievery that was common especially during the winter months. To his knowledge, peace had become the norm for the time being. The Campbells had been quiet since his brother Ruiri’s betrothed had been murdered. What had been left of that clan was dealt with on that horrible day which had changed Ruiri’s heart and soul. After that, though, things had been quiet. Perhaps they had gotten too complacent and allowed treachery to fester like a blistering wound.
There was something else gnawing at Jamie and he knew he needed to put it to rest more than the possibility of an impending blood feud. That woman had marked him in ways Jamie did not want to acknowledge and so after gulping down a mug or two of MacCollum’s best ale, Jamie thought he had numbed the effect of the strange MacDougal lass, with eyes the color of a frozen loch and a body too tempting to resist. Swallowing down the last dregs of his ale, Jamie realized that even if he was well into his cups, he could not blot out those things. Nay, it would take more than a few gulps of ale to quell the things that stirred within him since he first laid eyes on Sinead MacDougal.
With a curse, Jamie slammed his tankard down on the trestle table and grabbed his cloak. The cold sting of the blizzard outside the castle walls was just what he needed to cool the heat of his thoughts.
Chapter 18
Sinead woke and stretched. She was having quite the dream. She dreamed she was thrust in the midst of a battle in medieval Scotland and a gorgeous Highlander plucked her out of harm’s way. In the dream she had been hurt and cold, but now she was deliciously warm and comfortable. Her hand trailed over the fur covering her and she slowly opened her eyes. As she flexed her bent leg, pain shot through her thigh and the remnants of the dream scattered. Sinead sat up and cried out as fire bit into her flesh. Her heart began to thud wildly in her chest. My God, it wasn’t a dream after all. I am still here. I am really here! Dear God, I am still here!
Morag took the girl’s hand and she said, “Hush, lass, It’s alright.”
“No it is not alright. I shouldn’t be here. I need to get home.”
“Well, ye’ are here for now, so ye’ need to stop fretting about it. How are ye’ feeling?”
“How do you think? I’m stuck in ancient Scotland, my leg is on fire and I feel like I got hit in the back of the head with a brick. What the hell was in that drink?”
“Just something to aid ye’ to sleep and to help ease yer’ pain.”
“Well, it isn’t easing it now,” Sinead grumbled. “Look, you need to send me back.”
“I canna’ do that, love. I would if I could, but I dunna’ have that gift.”
Despite the searing pain in her leg, Sinead swung her legs over the side of the massive bed she had been lying in. Her bare feet touched the frigid stone of the floor and the warmth that had enveloped her quickly was d
ashed as the shock of cold infused the soles of her feet. She said a little more gruffly than she actually intended, “Please give me my clothes. I need to get dressed.”
“Those trews ye’ were wearin’ are being laundered and mended. Ye’ lost a good deal of blood. Besides, ye’ need to climb back in bed and rest. Ye’ have had quite an ordeal and yer’ body needs to heal itself.”
“What I need is to work my leg so that the muscles don’t atrophy. It’s nothing more than a cut; a deep one, yes, but it’s just a cut. You didn’t even need to stitch it.” Sinead was really quite grateful that she hadn’t needed stitches. The idea of an unsterile needle stitching her skin without an anesthetic made her want to throw up. With a kinder tone, Sinead said, “Look, I know you helped me and I am really thankful about that, but I am used to taking care of myself and one of the ways I do that is to exercise. I run or kick box…oh never mind…what I need to do is to move to keep my body strong.”
“Aye. I had a feelin’ ye’ were a warrior woman of some sort.”
Sinead laughed ironically about that.
“No, not at all. I just like to be in good shape…oh goodness, it sounds silly now, actually. You all are naturally in good shape; you have to be in this time, I suppose. Where I come from, we have things that have brought us great conveniences, but we have forfeited a bit of our strength because of them. So I work out. It keeps me strong. Here in this time, you all walk more and eat fresher foods, and work hard for everything. I’m babbling…I’m sorry. I do that sometimes when I am upset.”
“I know ye’ are frightened, lass, but ye’ are safe now.”
Sinead whipped her head around and looked at Morag. Where had she heard that before? Did she dream that the hunk had said that to her? Morag watched as uncertain emotions flitted like a vision through Sinead’s eyes. She was remembering something and it confused her. Morag felt pity for the young woman. Of course she was upset. Of course she was frightened, but she belonged here; Morag was certain of it. She could already sense the threads of the tapestry of the Ancients weaving their way around Sinead. Once in place, there was little that could be done to break free of their web.
She said, “Well, Lass, if ye’ are determined to be out of bed, I best get ye’ some clothing to wear until yer’ travelin’ garments are fixed.”
With a nervous laugh, Sinead said, “Yes, and I suppose I should wear something more befitting this time period. I believe I totally scandalized Jamie.”
A wicked smile spread on Morag’s face. Oh aye, the lad was positively shocked at Sinead’s less than minimal attire. Even now as the girl stood there in her wee underthings, Morag could still see the look on Jamie’s face. Talk about being hit with a brick at the back of the head! It was positively perfect. It was something the lad would not soon forget.
As she broke out of her thoughts, Morag noticed the girl was beginning to shiver. Though the room was warmed by the fire in the hearth, a chill still hung about the drafty walls of the keep. She said, “Back in bed with ye’ until I can bring ye’ something warm to put on.”
“And my sneakers…er, I mean my shoes? Were they ruined, too?”
“No lass. They are drying by the fire. I daresay they are not much protection for a storm such as the one ye’ were in. What was the day like before ye’ came here?”
“It had begun to snow before I got to work…I mean my job…Oh I’m sure you don’t understand.”
“I do, lass. More than ye’ know for I have seen yer’ world. T’was a long time ago, but I ne’er forgot it, though there are times that I wish I could.” Morag once again left much unsaid and Sinead did not think it would be proper to question her. Instead she said, “We go to things called jobs and we earn a living. Even women do that. It’s not so different, I suppose than what is done in this time. Only, we get paid…like coin…for the jobs that we do. I knew it was going to snow and I even brought boots with me, but I was enjoying the walk in the cold air, so I wore those shoes. We call them sneakers.”
The word made Morag giggle like a girl. “Sneakers,” she repeated. “T’is a funny word, lass.”
For some reason, that made Sinead laugh as well. It was a funny word. Sinead imagined that these people in this time would find many things funny about her. To Sinead, things were less amusing but actually more intriguing. Her life’s work was to catalogue things from the ancient world; things she would never imagine having an actual need to experience in their rightful purpose. Here she was in the midst of the best medieval find she could have ever imagined. Perhaps, she could learn to enjoy her time here for what it was; an amazing adventure filled with more wonders than any museum could ever hold; delightful oddities and antiquities; the least of which was one delicious Highland warrior that rivaled romance novel covers. The hot beast was the real thing. Even though some of the things he said royally pissed Sinead off, she would be lying if she said he wasn’t the most delicious man she had ever laid her eyes upon. Suddenly, Sinead did not want to get home so quickly after all.
Sinead sat back down on the bed and said, “Do you think there will be something more appropriate I can wear? I think I have shocked enough people today.”
“Aye, lass. I have just the thing. I do think ye’ should stay abed at least for another few days, but if ye’ are determined to leave yer’ bed, I should let ye’ try. Promise me that if ye’ start feelin’ poorly, ye’ will return to yer’ bed and rest.”
“It’s Jamie’s bed,” Sinead mumbled.
“Aye…but he has given it to ye’ fer now,” Morag said with a winsome little smirk.
“I thought he would have wanted to interrogate me or something. It seems he has forgotten I am even here.”
Morag detected disappointment in the lass’ voice. She got up, seemingly to have ignored Sinead’s last comment and she leaned on her staff. She tucked the bed covers back around Sinead and said, “I’ll be back with those clothes fer’ ye and mayhap a bite to eat.”
“No more stuff to make me sleep, okay?”
Morag didn’t know the word, but she understood it. She nodded. The girl was strong-willed and self-determined and she seemed to have a good knowledge of what her body needed to heal itself so Morag would adhere to her request. As she was turning to go, she tossed one final comment over her shoulder, saying, “Lass, he has nay forgotten about ye’. He was keeping vigil over ye’ afore I came to check up on ye’. I dare say he was quite embarrassed when I found him. He said he wanted to question ye’, but I know that was only half true. Just sayin’, lass.” And though she was old, Sinead watched as the woman seemed to glide out of the room with no arthritic hindrance whatsoever. If she didn’t know better, Sinead almost thought Morag was getting quite a kick out of her and out of Jamie’s reaction to her as well. Sinead smiled at the thought. She might even enjoy the art of flirting again sooner than later.
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In a short matter of time, Morag returned with a maid in tow, carrying an armful of garments. Sinead forced herself out of the warmth of Jamie’s big bed once again and she sat waiting for Morag to help her sort out something more suitable to wear in Medieval Scotland. Sinead expected the fabric to be rough and itchy, but she was surprised to feel the softness of beautifully milled wool as she slipped a simple gown with wide angel-winged sleeves over her head. It hugged her form like it was made for her and as the soft fabric draped over her arms, Sinead breathed out a sigh of comfort. “It feels nice…it seems too fine to be made of wool, yet I know it is.”
Morag seemed well pleased with Sinead’s assessment of the garments she had brought for her. She puffed out her chest a little and declared, “T’is yer’ bonny Jamie’s doin’.”
Sinead laughed. “Oh come now, Morag. You aren’t suggesting that Jamie made these clothes.”
“Not made them, lass, but t’is his wool that was spun to make the cloth of it. He prides himself on the process and our clan has greatly benefitted from it. It is prized in much of the Highlands.”
&nb
sp; “Wool…what did I read about him…I am trying to remember.”
Morag shrugged. She was just glad that the girl did not balk at the mode of clothing. In fact, she picked up the skirt and twirled a bit, forgetting the pain in her injured leg. “I feel like a princess.”
Morag’s eyes shimmered with amusement. She said, “T’is hardly a gown fit for a princess, lass, but I am glad it suits ye’. Here, let me tighten the lacings for ye’.” Morag tugged sharply on the laces that crisscrossed down Sinead’s back, and she smoothed the skirts in place. Sinead liked the feel of it. It was like a fine crepe in a light blue hue. The sleeves hung wide below her wrists and had an embroidered border of cornflowers around the edges of the sleeves. Morag held out her hand and the maid handed her a metal belt. Morag reached around Sinead and fastened the belt so that it came to form a “vee” in the front and it sat low on her hips. The girdle was heavy against her legs, but Sinead liked the effect it made on the gown. The whole thing was really quite beautiful in its simplicity. It almost seemed that it had been made perfectly for her, but Sinead knew that was pretty far-fetched. She looked down at the garment and then raising her eyes to Morag, she said softly, “Thank you. It is beautiful. It’s a perfect fit.”
“It suit’s ye’ lass. Brings out the color of yer’ eyes.”
Sinead felt herself blush. She did not know why.
“Please tell whoever is lending it to me that I love it and am so grateful.”
“It belongs to Jamie’s younger sister, Bronwyn. I suppose ye’ll be meetin’ her soon, as well.”
“Thank goodness. I thought you were going to tell me it came from someone who was deceased.”
“I thought about lending ye’ some of Lady Mairgred’s things, but I did nay know how the laird would take to that. Bronwyn was happy to help. She likes to don the plaid of the clan more than not and so she’ll not miss these things. There are some other things ye’ will need, too. We have some slippers that will nay do well in the snow, lass. I think even yer’, what were they called again…sneehkurs?”