Time For A Highlander (Real Men Wear Kilts)

by Maxine Mansfield

  When his eyes began to cross, she tried to tell him bits and pieces about cars and trains, airplanes and rocket ships that had landed on the moon, even microwave ovens, computers, cell phones, and iPods. But from the look on his face, she was pretty positive he didn’t have a ghost of an idea what she was talking about.

  She didn’t tell him anything about her marriage to Burt, however, and she certainly didn’t say a word about Ben and Brian. Those pains were too great to share even with Quint, too personal.

  When Beth finally ran out of energy and things to say, she glanced at the man who’d lain silently by her side the entire time with his arm thrown casually across her waist. She couldn’t read his expression. He didn’t appear any different this moment, than he had when she spoke to him of routine castle matters.

  But he looked tired when he looked at her. “If this story be true, then why did ye wait until now ta be telling me?”

  Beth swallowed her fear. “Because now you’re in danger, Duncan’s in danger, this babe I carry is in danger, and all who live within the walls of Brochel are in danger. I love you too much not to warn you. Your safety, their safety, is more important than whatever you may think or decide to do to me.”

  Quint grinned and squeezed her. “Ye love me then, do ye?”

  “Of course, I love you, you silly man. How could I not?” Beth sighed.

  He squeezed her again, closer. “We’ll discuss this matter of ye great love for me later, but for now, where do ye perceive this danger ye speak of is coming from? Some great future army from across the ocean? One of ye so called machines with wheels that don’t require horses ta pull them along? Or perhaps a—what was it—oh yes, rocket ship ta the moon?”

  She rolled her eyes. “This is not a jest, Quint. Lord Fredrick means to kill you, and Marta means to do great bodily harm to Duncan if not kill him outright. They’ve been plotting for a very long time. After this babe is born, they mean to take Brochel and possess it for King Charles. The king desires land of his own in Scotland, other than Sterling castle, that is, which belongs to the people, not to the king. The viscount means to provide him with it.”

  She could feel the heat creeping up her neck and overflowing her cheeks, but still she forged ahead. “And—and I—I mean Lady Elspeth Frasier was a very integral part of their plans before she died.”

  Quint looked skeptical. “If indeed, the real Lady Elspeth Frasier died before we were ever wed, then how is it ye know of the viscount and Marta’s plans?”

  Beth swallowed hard. “Fate told me memories never truly die, even after a person does. I’ve been having dreams, nightmares really. I’ve seen her memories. And Marta told me right to my face of their plans, and of her hatred for you and Duncan. She blames you both for her sister’s death. She doesn’t realize I’m not the same Elspeth she knew.”

  “Ye swear ye haven’t spoken of this to anyone else?” Quint asked.

  Beth shook her head. “No, of course not.” But she could still see the wheels turning in his head through the shadows of his eyes. Did he believe what she’d told him? Should she be worried about what he would do with the information? And now that he knew she wasn’t the Elspeth Frasier he thought he’d married, would he send her away? He hadn’t really said much. He just continued to stare at her as if she’d grown a second head. But then her story was a lot to process.

  “Good,” he finally said. “See that ye don’t.” He tucked her in close to his side and kissed the top of her head. “Sleep, wife, whoever ye be. We’ll speak more of this on the morrow.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  In the first rays of the morning sun, Quint studied Beth. But then, that’s what he’d been doing for hours. Lying in his bed, wide awake, staring at a woman, who’d earlier last evening sworn to him she was from another time and place. But for the moment, in this time and in this place, she was sleeping peacefully by his side, as if this were just another morning, while he certainly hadn’t slept much at all.

  He shuddered, yet still couldn’t bring himself to feel even a grain of fear toward his wife. And she was his wife, even if what she said were true. Especially if what she said was true.

  After all, if the real Elspeth died the night before their wedding, then it had most assuredly been his Beth and not Elspeth Frasier who’d spoken back to him the vows of their marriage. And if that was the case, then it had been his Beth and not the high-and-mighty Lady Elspeth he’d taken into his arms that very first night and claimed as wife.

  Even now, though he still wasn’t sure if the woman he knew as his wife was telling him the truth or if somehow the fairies had addled her brain, his cock roared to life and stiffened with the memory of her tight warmth enveloping him, holding him close, welcoming him home.

  Beth from the far away future or Lady Elspeth Frasier, it made nae difference. He desired his wife, this wife, and it didn’t matter to him how he’d acquired her. What mattered was he aimed to keep her, forever. Even if the lass had gone completely doo-lilly on him. Even if keeping her meant keeping her secret from every other living, breathing soul in Brochel…forever.

  He’d do it if he must.

  He’d nae lose her now.

  He couldn’t. He loved her too much.

  Quint took a deep breath and blew it out. But then, what if she were telling the truth? Should he really be concerned about Telford’s coming and trying to wrest his castle and lands from his grasp?

  He chuckled. Quinton Macleod was a Scot through and through, and nae Scot worth his salt would ever allow an Englishman ta take what was rightfully his and live ta tell about it. Nae, the viscount wasn’t really that much of a concern yet. Nae even if he brought an entire army with him. On a good day, a handful of MacLeods could outfight a full regiment of Englishmen without ever breaking a sweat.

  He knew that for a fact.

  He’d trained them himself.

  But then, if the viscount wasn’t really a threat, was Marta?

  He’d promised Mairi on her deathbed he’d take care of Marta and see to Duncan’s well-being. The child’s future was set. Every day he became stronger, faster, more proficient with his sword, and every night, Duncan surprised him and Beth both with how quickly he learned. Mairi and Dougal would be proud of their son if they could see him today.

  Marta was another story, though. The woman was surly at the best of times. She’d even taken Beth’s offer to work in the kitchen and thrown it right back in her face. She’d insisted that being the aunt of the laird’s cousin put her in much ta high a position ta be a mere scullery servant, and for the moment, Beth was allowing it.

  Quinton hadn’t argued the point. He wanted to give Beth the chance to be the lady of the keep as she saw fit, without the heavy hand of the laird interfering. If she needed his assistance in dealing with the help, she’d ask for it.

  And he’d nae even blamed Marta for being the way she was, or even for hating him as she did. God knew there were days he hated himself. It really was his fault her sister Mairi had died. It didn’t matter whether he was directly responsible for Dougal’s death or if the man had thrown himself off the battlements. It was still he who’d denied his cousin’s request in the first place. And it was still he who’d watched the life fade from Mairi’s eyes a little more every day she’d carried the shame of Dougal’s bastard.

  But what could he do about any of it now? He couldn’t bring Dougal or Mairi back, and he couldn’t undo his decision to nae allow them to marry. He’d been an arrogant, selfish, immature, doo-lilly himself back then. The experience had changed him, though. It had forced him to grow up and learn to put his people’s needs before his own.

  So, what was to be done about Marta then? He had no idea. The best plan he could come up with was to wait, watch, and pray that, in the end, Beth was wrong about Marta’s change of loyalty and that he’d nae be forced to go back upon the promise he’d made to her sister.

  ****

  Beth snuggled farther under the covers of their bed. It’d
been only a few hours since she’d told her husband she was from a different time, and already he was waking her up and wheedling all the information he could from her. It wasn’t that she didn’t wish to tell him, at least not precisely. It was more that she was worried whatever she might say would or could somehow change the future, and perhaps not for the better. She had to be careful.

  But at the same time, would it truly be wrong to tell him some tidbit that might someday give him a small advantage over others? Just a little something? Or even a few little somethings? Especially if she meant to leave him here all alone in 1643 with a castle to run and a newborn to take care of?

  “No, I didn’t say cars were carts without horses. I said cars were kind of like carts but without the need for horses to pull them along. They’re made of metal and leather. They have engines and use gasoline to make them go.”

  “Now I know ye are trying to confuse me, lass.” Quint grinned. “Metal? Engines? Gasoline?” He smacked her soundly upon the rump, then rubbed it all better for good measure.

  Beth chuckled. “I’m not trying to confuse you, really, I’m not. I don’t know how to describe the stuff from my time in words you’ll understand.”

  “The metal.” He sighed. “Start with the metal they use. Is it forged iron like we use ta fashion our weapons?”

  Beth hesitated a moment, and then shook her head. “It is, but it isn’t. In the future, metals will be…mixed. Don’t ask me the exact process because I don’t know all the particulars. But I do know that if you melt iron ore and chromium together, you get what’s called stainless steel. It’s much more durable and flexible than plain forged iron. And you can put in some nickel or carbon if you have any lying around and make your metal stronger and more pliable.”

  She didn’t dare go into the process of making any other types of metals from her time period. She couldn’t imagine trying to describe some of the more complicated metal alloys, aluminum foil, or God forbid, fluorocarbons like the Teflon series to a man from the seventeenth century.

  Quint got a faraway look in his eyes. “Hmm, I think I’ll have a word with the blacksmith later today. But let’s forget about metals and engines and this so-called gasoline for the moment. What can ye tell me about Scotland in your future world? Is she free from English tyranny? Does Brochel still stand? Is the MacLeod name still uttered with respect? Do my future clansmen still keep close to their hearts our motto of Hold Fast?”

  Beth hesitated. Being an American history teacher, she really should know more English history than she did. But knowing from the beginning exactly what she wished to teach, she’d never really paid that much attention. If truth be told, she’d leaned more English, and especially Scottish history, from the romance novels she read, than she ever learned in the classroom. But there were a few things she did know details about. The only problem being, they were things she wasn’t sure Quinton would want to hear.

  She looked him straight in the eye. Though perhaps she wouldn’t tell him the whole truth and nothing but the truth yet, there would be no more lies between them. “Scotland, in my time is a proud prosperous country. It’s part of what’s called Great Britain. Scotland, England, and Wales eventually form an alliance that works very well for all three of them. There’s no more war. And together, with Northern Ireland, they become what’s called the United Kingdom. You’d be proud of your people’s descendants, Quint. They’ve learned to live together in peace.”

  He smiled as he playfully drew a single finger across her lips to her ear and back again, following the pathway he’d made with his mouth. “And Brochel? Does she still stand?”

  Beth hesitated again. What to tell him of Brochel?

  The memory of the last day of her previous life and the sight of the more-rubble-than-structure tower, standing all alone and barren upon the edge of the small Isle of Raasay came clearly to mind.

  She cleared her throat. “Brochel still stands, at least a good part of it, anyway. It’s a very old castle in my time, remember?” She leaned into his caress. “And you’d be pleased to know that Dunvegan is still held by the MacLeod clan. And yes, like all the MacLeods before them, they still Hold Fast.”

  He nuzzled her neck, and his grin against her skin brought an answering one to Beth’s lips.

  “That makes me happy,” Quint whispered. “I’m glad that even hundreds of years in the future, a MacLeod still sits upon the seat of power at Dunvegan.” He nuzzled her neck once more. “But enough about things that have nae happened yet, I’ve plans of my own for this night.”

  His hand slipped down Beth’s body, and then back up again, coming to rest finally on her breast. He squeezed gently before taking her nipple between his teeth and nipping, sucking, and thoroughly licking it.

  Beth gasped as spirals of pleasure skittered along her spine and landed in her clit. She leaned in closer. Oh yes, they’d have plenty of time for talking, later.

  Quint suddenly lifted his head. “Ye truly were forty-five years old in your time?”

  She nodded.

  In the flickering light of the candle, his face took on a very serious expression. “I ken for a fact, Lady Elspeth Frasier MacLeod’s body was chaste when I first bedded her. But what of the woman ye used ta be, my Beth? Forty-five years alone is a verra long time. Is coupling different in the future? Did ye have a husband ye loved? A fine home, laughing children? Am I and Brochel a disappointment compared ta what ye once had?”

  Beth shook her head. She still wouldn’t tell him about Burt or the boys, at least not yet. But perhaps she could be honest about her feelings for him. “I love you, Quinton MacLeod, and I love our home. I can honestly say I never knew what it was to be truly loved by any man before you showed me the pleasure to be found in your arms. And believe me, no man, in any other time period ever, could begin to come close to you, in bed or out.”

  He kissed first her lips, then her neck, her shoulder, her breasts, and her tummy as he gently lifted her until she was straddling him. Tingles of intense desire shot straight through her gut and landed right where she wanted his cock.

  A moment later, he complied with her wishes as with one hand upon her expanding midsection and the other on his full erection, carefully he rose to meet her waiting cunny. “Well, then—” He chuckled as he entered her and began rocking back and forth. “—I suppose I’d better do my duty and make sure ye do nae forget what pleasure this young man can bring ta such an old lady.”

  Beth gave him a sultry look as she leaned forward and rubbed her pert nipples against his chest. “I’d like that, my very young lord. I do believe I’d like that very much. But we shall see who pleasures whom first.”

  She winked and slowly rose up the full length of his cock, then plunged back down.

  He moaned low and long, and Beth did it again, and then again, and then again.

  Quint grabbed her hips, “Ye wee vixen,” he laughed. “I’ll nae lay here and let ye slowly torture me ta death, even if ye are now big with child and we have a need ta be careful.”

  In a single motion, he flipped her onto her back, lifted her legs until they rested upon his shoulders, and slid his cock so deep into her cunny its head kissed her cervix.

  Beth whimpered as tiny shockwaves of pure pleasure radiated outward with every stroke he executed. God, how she loved this man.

  “I’m nae hurting ye, am I, wife?”

  The concern on his face brought a sheen of tears of joy to her eyes, and Beth smiled up at her husband. “You’ll only be hurting me if you stop too soon,” she laughed. “Big and pregnant or not, I need this, I need you, and I need you right where you are.”

  With that, Quint doubled the speed of his strokes, and within moments, they were both shouting their releases to the dawning sunrise and quivering as shudders of bliss filled them both.

  ****

  From their chamber window, Beth stared down into the bailey, watching Quint work with his men. She shook her head and smiled. The man was driving her completely bat-shi
t crazy and had been for the last three days. Since she’d first told him she was from the future, at least once every few hours, he’d come to her with a question. And that didn’t even count the queries he’d kept her awake half the night with.

  Questions like, if she truly were from the future, then what kind of weapons did man use to fight battles and what kind of horses did they ride? How did they manage hunting enough food for an entire army, let alone the wood it would take to cook it? Were red-tail deer still plentiful? Fish? Fowl? Was wool still used for clothing, leather for boots? What did she mean by skyscrapers, and how did one possibly build structures that could even come close to scraping the sky? And what happened to the sky once it was scraped?

  It never ended, and it was at times, as if he were trying to trip her up and force her to make a mistake he’d recognize as an untruth.

  She’d tried to answer his questions as thoroughly as she could, but more than once, disbelief filled his eyes, and she couldn’t blame him. After all, who in their right mind, in the year 1643, would ever believe man would one day cook his food without first needing to build a fire, let alone scrape the sky or walk on the moon?

  Suddenly, he glanced toward their chamber window, and Beth shook her head as he turned over the training of his men to another and headed for the keep. She recognized that look of determination on his face. Quinton MacLeod had more inquiries to make.

  She had barely counted to ten before the door to their chamber burst open. “What happens with King Charles?”

  Beth motioned for Quint to take a seat before the fire. “Why do you keep asking all these questions? You don’t really believe anything I’ve already told you. One minute, you swear I truly must be from the future, and with the very next breath, you’re just as positive I’m not. You are making both of us crazy, Quint.”

  He nodded. “Aye, I suppose I am, at that, my Beth. But I still need ta know what happens with King Charles in the end. Does he wrest Brochel away from me? Do the royalists finally get overthrown by the parliamentarians? Do ye nae see, this knowledge is important for the safety of our people? My loyalties, our loyalties, must be in the right place at the right time. Our duty is first to those who reside behind the walls of Brochel, not to our personal beliefs.”