Time For A Highlander (Real Men Wear Kilts)

by Maxine Mansfield

  Beth’s eyes flew open. Thin streaks of sunlight filtered through the cracks in the wooden closure of a stone-encased window and illuminated the room in a gentle glow. This definitely wasn’t her apartment, and for sure, this wasn’t her bed.

  Where was she again?

  She could just make out a man’s outline standing beside her and hear the sound of his breathing.

  Beth froze.

  “You can’t avoid this, madam. I know you’re awake. I’m not leaving until I have my say, so you might as well look straight at me and face the day.”

  Slowly, she did, all the while terrified of who and what she was going to see.

  After the earthquake and the strange conversation with the very strange man that followed it, she’d spent the remainder of the night convincing herself what she’d seen and heard had been some kind of weird reaction to something she’d eaten. And with the light of day, she wasn’t prepared for it not to be.

  But there he was, big as life and as strange as he’d been the day before. Mr. Tobias Moiré, the event manipulator, or Fate, or whatever else he might find to call himself.

  “Where am I? What am I doing here? Did I really and truly die?”

  He cleared his throat. “There isn’t much time. Very soon now, that door is going to open, and I won’t get another chance to explain, so please be quiet and listen until I’m finished. Then, if there is any time left, you may ask questions. Is that clear?”

  She started to speak, but he held up a hand. “A nod will suffice.”

  Beth clamped her mouth closed and nodded.

  “To begin with, yes, Bethany Ann Anderson’s body is dead, mashed flat as a pancake. Trust me, not a pretty sight. You, madam, have been given a new body. Well, really, it’s a very old body, as you are now in the past. Close to four hundred years in the past to be exact, in late March of Our Lord’s year 1643. You are presently at Frasier Castle on an island off the coast of Scotland, and you are now in the body of one Lady Elspeth Frasier who, after suffering a rather nasty fall and fatal bump to the head during dinner last night, no longer has need of it.”

  Tears welled in Beth’s eyes. “Mashed, flat as a pancake?” She shuddered. Though she’d never been what she’d call proud of her overabundant curves, they’d been hers, and the thought of complete strangers probably having to scrape what was left of her off the ground brought on a wave of nausea.

  Fate sighed. “Your old body’s condition should be the least of your concerns.” He snapped his fingers. “We have much more pressing issues to discuss, so get past it, and let’s move on. I need you to concentrate. This is important.”

  She swiped at her eyes. Concentrate? How the fuck was she supposed to concentrate? She’d just been told she was dead. Hysteria replaced the nausea.

  “Today is to be your wedding day. In a matter of a very short period of time, you will be exchanging vows with Laird Quinton MacLeod.”

  Beth tossed back the furs and jumped to her feet. “No, oh no, no, no, and not just no, but oh hell no. I’m not marrying anyone ever again, especially not some guy I don’t even know. And no one, not even you, can make me. If I’m really, truly dead, then I want to go to heaven, and I want to go right now.”

  She lifted her chin an inch in defiance, but she couldn’t prevent her lip from trembling. “I’ve—I’ve earned it.

  “And there are people there I need to see, to be with. I have things I need to explain, apologies to make.” She flung her arms about wildly. “I didn’t agree to any of this. I demand you get me out of here this minute.”

  Fate tapped his foot. “Are you quite finished with your little temper tantrum? There will be no getting you out of that body or this time period until the wrong, which you helped to create, I might add, has been undone. That is simply the way of things. Accept it and move on. And, madam, you certainly have met your prospective bridegroom. He is the man who helped you rise from the floor last evening after Lady Elspeth’s untimely demise.”

  Beth gasped and shook her head. “I won’t do it. You can’t make me.”

  Fate simply smiled, and Beth had an almost irresistible urge to punch him.

  “Oh, yes, I most certainly can, my dear. You will marry Laird MacLeod this very morning. For in the year 1643, young ladies wed whom they were told to wed.”

  She gulped at the memory of the man who would’ve made a gorgeous cover model and the feelings he’d elicited in her with no more than a smile.

  “I won’t. I’ll show you. I’ll tell the whole bunch of them all about you and who I really am.”

  Fate laughed. “It wouldn’t be in your best interest to do so, madam. They burned females for making up less crazy stories than you have to tell. Remember, it is the year 1643.” He leaned in close. “They thought them to be witches, you see. Very superstitious period in history. But considering you are, I mean were, a history teacher, I’m sure you’re already aware of that.”

  The blood drained from Beth’s face. After what happened to… Being burned alive was perhaps her greatest fear. She wouldn’t give Fate the satisfaction of knowing that, however. Gathering her bravado, she faced him. “So be it. Let them burn me. Then I’ll get to be with…”

  “Your children?” He finished her sentence for her.

  The lump in her throat impeded her speech as a sharp pang of longing squeezed the breath from her chest. She simply nodded.

  “I know all about your two young sons, madam. One of the event manipulators for North America told me all about them. He’s a cousin of mine. His name is Norbert.”

  Her mouth gaped. There was more than one?

  “Oh please, surely you don’t think I’m the only Fate there is, do you? There are many of us. Every major country has at least one, and some of the larger continents and providences have quite a few. It depends on population, you see? Itty bitty China for instance has five all to itself. It’s like how your government goes about deciding how many senators each state gets. Though with Fates, we are all direct descendants of the original three Moirés.

  “And before you even think to ask, no, Norbert was not the cause of the mishap that claimed your children’s lives. There were other factors involved in that particular situation that I’m not at liberty to discuss.”

  He touched her arm. “No matter what you may have been led to believe, madam, their deaths were not your fault, and you could not have prevented them.”

  She buried her face in her hands as the taste of bile filled her mouth. His cousin Norbert may have told him the circumstances surrounding the deaths of her children, but one thing was for certain, Tobias Moiré had no idea what she’d said to her children only moments before the crash. And he didn’t know why she so desperately needed to see them, be with them, beg their forgiveness.

  Fate linked an arm about her shoulders. “Don’t you see? The opportunity you have now been given truly is rare. Not only might you help fix my mistake, but this can be a fresh new beginning for you yourself. Not many people get the chance to do their lives over. Consider this a gift, not a punishment.”

  He slipped a hand into one of the pockets of his robe and pulled out a hand-mirror. “Look at how young and beautiful you are.”

  She took a deep breath, blew it out, and allowed Fate to place the circle of glass in her hand. What did it matter what she looked like? Inside, where it really counted, she was still a monster and she knew it. But look she did, and the reflection that stared back at her was that of a total stranger.

  Lady Elspeth Frasier was pretty, of that there was no doubt. Golden curls hung down her back, well past her waist. Her eyes were large and sky-blue with thick, dark honey-colored lashes. A pert nose, peach cheeks, and a set of perfect, pouty, pink lips certainly didn’t distract from her beauty either. Even her silly little ears were cute.

  Beth ran a hand down the unfamiliar body. It was lithe and slender, perky in all the right places, and with enough curves to make any man with a pulse look more than twice and break out in a sweat. It wa
s the face and body she’d always dreamed of. But a part of her missed the flabby, saggy, middle-aged, post-menopausal Beth she’d been yesterday. The knowledge she’d never again see the reflection of her own face once more brought tears to her eyes.

  “Mashed flat as a pancake?” She sighed. “How old is she? I mean, how old am I?”

  Fate smiled. “Twenty today. Happy birthday, madam.”

  Beth nodded. “I certainly don’t feel twenty. I still very much feel forty-five.”

  Fate nodded. “Well, you did have a rather trying day yesterday. After the wedding, I’m sure you’ll be able to find time to relax and get to know this new body of yours.”

  She cringed. “I can’t do it. I can’t possibly marry that, that young man. I’m old enough to be Quinton MacLeod’s mother, for God’s sake. It would be too weird, disgusting even, and probably illegal somewhere.”

  Fate chuckled. “Well, to be perfectly honest, madam, technically speaking, he’s older than you by hundreds of years and older than Lady Elspeth by five. But then age isn’t what matters anyhow. It’s simply a number. And when it comes to relationships between men and women, the only thing that’s truly important is what the heart feels. Trust your heart in this matter, madam, and you will be fine.”

  Beth sighed again. “So, what exactly do I have to do to make up for the mistake? I want this over with as quickly as possible.”

  Tobias Moiré smiled. “Your task is quite simple, really. Just give Quinton MacLeod the heir he was denied because of Lady Elspeth’s untimely death.”

  She choked and sputtered. “Carry for nine long months and give birth to a baby again? His baby? And then what, just desert it, desert them? I can’t. I won’t. I’ll do anything else, anything, please.”

  Fate shook his head. “The terms aren’t up for debate, I’m afraid. That is the bargain, madam. An heir for Quinton MacLeod in exchange for being reunited with the children you lost.

  “You now have approximately two minutes of privacy left in order to come to terms with your issues and lay them to rest. Do try and put a smile on your face before that door swings open.”

  He began to shimmer. “I must go for now, but I’ll be close by if and when you truly need my assistance.”

  Beth panicked. “Wait, how do I get in touch with you? And I do have questions. I don’t know this Lady Elspeth person at all. How am I supposed to be her? How did she act, how did she speak, what was her life like? Everyone is going to know I’m a fraud.”

  Fate was almost completely transparent, and Beth had to strain to hear what he said.

  “When I’m needed, I’ll know it. As far as acting like Lady Elspeth, simply tap into her memories, madam. Memories don’t ever completely die, even when the body does. They fade over time and become particles of energy traveling through the universe. Until then, however, most remain hidden away in the subconscious.

  “As a matter of fact, some memories, if powerful enough, have been known to remain behind for a millennium or more. Search for those memories, those deepest and closest to Lady Elspeth’s heart. Start with her most recent ones. Those are the bits that can give you the clearest information.

  “Good luck until we meet once again.”

  Then he was gone.

  The door crashed open with a resounding bang and into the room walked the strangest assortment of people Beth had ever seen. In the lead was Lady Lydia, followed by another woman who looked surprisingly like a much older version of a Raggedy Ann doll, complete with a dull white smock but minus the striped stockings. Her hair was a mass of curly bright red, and she had rosy cheeks. Her freckles had freckles, even in her wrinkles, but her smile was open and friendly. Beth immediately liked her. She sought the recesses of Elspeth’s mind and surprisingly came up with the name Bronwyn.

  “It’s your wedding day, my lady. Time ta break ye fast and have ye bath.”

  Beth searched her own memory for details from the numerous romance novels she’d read. Thinking that those stories, and the fact she’d been a middle-school history teacher for more than seventeen years, should be able to help in some small way. And suddenly, she knew. The Raggedy Ann look-alike must be her ladies’ maid.

  Beth raised her nose slightly, enjoying the moment of playacting the way she thought a noblewoman would, and said the first thing that popped into her head.

  “Make sure the water is warm enough, Bronwyn. You know how I detest tepid.”

  The red-haired old woman laughed. “Didn’t I tell ya she’d be right as rain this morn, Lady Lydia? It takes more than a little tumble and a crack on the noggin ta get the better of Mistress Elspeth Frasier, it does. Even though she’d been gone from us for nigh on eight years, I’d know that sassiness, anywhere.”

  Lady Lydia smiled and nodded as she directed the servants to set the wooden tub in the corner of the room, close to the fireplace. Bucket after bucket of steaming water was poured until the container was filled to her satisfaction.

  Beth glanced at the platter of oatcakes and cheese that were set before her, along with a cup of tea, but all she longed for right this moment was a long soak in that steaming water to ease her aching head and muscles. Her stomach, however, chose that moment to remind her it hadn’t eaten in a while, so she gave in to its demands and sat silently worrying as she nibbled on the fare.

  How long would she be able to keep up this charade? How long before she made a mistake and was found out? Would they really think she was a witch? Would they really burn her alive if they did?

  Beth shuddered.

  Lady Lydia must have witnessed her unease and mistaken the reason behind it, for a moment later, she dismissed the servants, except for Bronwyn, and closed the door firmly behind them. With an almost sisterly expression on her face, the lady approached the bed.

  She stood quietly for a moment, as if in deep thought, then began. “I was beginning ta think the day would nae come when I would have need of this conversation with ye. Though I’m certainly nae your mother, and with ye father sending ye ta the abbey so soon after I arrived here at Frasier castle, we never really got the chance ta become as close as I would’ve liked. But still, I do feel it my responsibility ta…”

  Beth nibbled another bite to cover her grin, as the sight of Lady Lydia’s cheeks pinkening told her exactly what discussion was forthcoming. What would the very proper young woman think if she had any inkling that Beth had taught more than her share of sex education classes over the years?

  “I was fourteen years and ye were but twelve when I became ye father’s wife and ye stepmother,” Lady Lydia began again. “My own mother died when I was born and my ladies’ maid had never married, so there wasn’t anyone ta properly prepare me for what ta expect in the…marriage bed. I was terrified the first time, and I do nae wish that for ye.”

  The poor woman’s face was now so red it glowed, and Beth wanted to stop her before she fainted dead away. She wanted to confide in her and let her know that even though this body was young and inexperienced, she was not.

  But she didn’t.

  Memories flooded her mind, memories of her horrible marriage and of the maniacal brute she’d been attached to. The man who’d blamed her daily for the death of his children. The man who’d made sure she’d suffered for the crime he’d long ago found her guilty of. And he’d taken pride in punishing her for what he felt she did, over and over and over.

  Beth shuddered, and Lady Lydia quickly continued.

  “Please do nae mistake me, Elspeth, dear. Ye have nae ta fear. That is what I am here ta tell ye. Though there was no great passion between ye father and me, we did eventually become…friends, of a sort, long before his death.”

  Lady Lydia took a deep breath. “As ye know, ye are well past the age ta marry. ’Tis time for ye ta take ye rightful place in society as wife ta the laird and mither ta his children. If ye simply lie still and do whatever Quinton MacLeod tells ye ta do, the entire unpleasantness will be over with before ye know it. Granted, there may be a slight sti
ng of pain, especially the first time or two, but nae so much as ta do…lasting harm. Ye will get used ta it soon enough. I did.”

  Bronwyn sputtered and laughed. “My lady, do nae be filling the lass’s head full of nonsense. There’s na finer in all the world than the feel of a braw mon betwixt ya legs. Take it from me, Lady Elspeth, ye’ll be having yeself a grand ole time with that bonny mon of yours before ye know it.”

  The maid grinned and winked. “I caught a glimpse of the laird bathing in the loch this morn, and I’m here ta tell ye, he’s got nae ta be ashamed of and plenty ta work his magic on ye with.”

  Lady Lydia blushed an even deeper shade of red, if that was possible. “Well then, I’m so glad we had the opportunity ta have this little chat.” She nodded Beth’s way, then hurried from the room.

  Beth wanted to laugh with Bronwyn, but she wanted to cry for Lady Lydia more. Married at fourteen? And to an old man? Forced to endure sexual attention from someone she didn’t even know or love? How horrid.

  She’d studied her share of history from this part of the world and time period, and knew that what she was hearing and seeing really was the way it had been. Seeing it up close and personal, however, and hearing it straight from the lips of one who’d lived it was another story all together.

  She couldn’t bear living like that. She couldn’t abide another bully like her ex-husband had been, and she wouldn’t. It didn’t matter how young or unbelievably handsome Laird Quinton MacLeod was. His new little wife wasn’t going to lie there and do what she was told. Not again, anyway.

  ****

  Quint paced the battlements like a man possessed. In less than two turns of the hourglass he’d be married. And to whom? The she-devil, Lady Elspeth Frasier, herself. The same woman who for the last two days had, for the most part anyway, completely ignored his presence as if he were somehow beneath her notice.

  It wasn’t as if he didn’t want a wife. Quint knew he needed to marry, needed to produce an heir. It was his duty to his clan and past time.

  But Lady Elspeth Frasier?