by Tia Isabella
Thomas and Argyle laughed. “Wife, Lady Sara is right. Ye best slow down. I promise ye that I will no’ let yer meal up and run from ye.”
Maya stopped eating in mid-bite and raised a golden eyebrow. “Are you making fun of me, Thomas? I am feeding your baby, you know.”
He grinned. “Aye, I know it. And I fear that the lad or lassie will no’ want tae come out do ye keep feeding them that way.”
Sara chuckled at that. “I can picture the birthing now, my lord. We’ll have to coax your baby out of his mother’s womb with a leg of mutton in one hand and a sweet roll in the other.”
The men howled merrily from the vision Sara’s words conjured up.
Maya tore into a leg of lamb with her incisors and frowned. She held the bone up in the air and jabbed it toward her husband. “You shouldn’t make fun of your wife. It’s not my fault your baby is a pig.”
Thomas held up his hands in mock surrender. Unfortunately, he couldn’t stop chuckling to save his own life. “Forgive me, love. I know ‘tis my fault.”
“Aye,” Argyle winked, “everything ‘tis the laird’s fault.”
“Aye,” Sara teased, “we all know that.”
Maya scowled at the group of people watching her with amused expressions on their faces. She poked the leg of lamb she was eating toward her husband once more. “You’re lucky I think you’re so cute.”
Thomas blushed.
Sara and Argyle laughed harder.
Now even Maya was grinning. Turning the tables on her husband was always so much fun. “What’s a matter, my love? Have I embarrassed—”
“Thomas!”
The foursome stopped their ribbing and turned their attention toward the entrance of the dining hall. Dugald was fast approaching, sword in hand, looking like a man possessed.
“What is it?” Thomas bellowed as he rose to his feet. “The MacAllister?”
“Nay.” Dugald shook his head and sheathed his sword. “Nay, my lord, ‘tis the black clouds! Word was just sent down from Hamish!”
Maya stood up, grabbing Argyle’s hand in the process. She looked to her bodyguard, watching him visibly gulp at the news. “’Tis time then?” he asked.
“Aye,” Dugald announced with a nod of his head as his eyes raked over Argyle. “The Sotted waits outside fer ye, lad.”
Argyle stared wide-eyed at Sir Dugald, unable to break his gaze away from the commander’s face.
“Are you alright, Argyle?” Maya asked as she squeezed his hand. “You don’t have to go if you don’t want to.”
Argyle swallowed roughly then turned toward his lady and bent down on one knee. “I will go now, milady. I will no’ fail ye.”
Maya was about to argue with him when she realized by the determined look in his eyes that there was no point in doing so. She squeezed Argyle’s hand and bade him to his feet once more. When he obeyed, she stood up on tiptoe and placed a chaste kiss on his cheek.
Argyle sighed dreamily, elated by his lady’s show of affection. Thomas scowled, jealous because of it. “Argyle!” he growled.
“Aye, my lord?”
“Let us go. Wife, ye and Sara are tae wait here fer our return.”
“But Thomas,” Maya countered, wanting to go to the hillside to see Argyle and Harold off.
Thomas held up a silencing hand. “Nay, wife. Ye will remain here or no one shall go.”
Maya was about to protest when Sara grabbed her hand and silently pleaded with her not to do anything that might cause Thomas to change his mind. She relented, throwing her husband a stiff nod in the process.
Thomas sighed as he fisted his hands on his hips. “Ye ken my reasons fer wantin’ ye tae stay in the keep, love. ‘Tis no’ tae be a tyrant.”
Maya sighed. “I know.” She turned to Argyle and beseeched him through worried eyes. “Please be careful. Please come home soon.”
Argyle nodded, then raised his lady’s hand to his lips and kissed it softly. “Dinna fear. I shall do yer bidding and be home afore ye birth my lord’s bairn.”
Maya nodded. “Tell Harold I shall miss him.”
“I will.”
Argyle broke free from his lady’s grasp and followed Thomas and Dugald toward the keep’s front doors.
“Watch yer lady!” Thomas threw over his shoulder to Gilfred as he left the dining hall and headed outside. “I will no’ be gone fer verra long.”
* * * * *
Maya and Sara paced back and forth before the hearth in the great hall. Sara looked expectantly up at the wall, as if she assumed a clock would be found there. She sighed when she remembered that the everyday wallclock hadn’t been invented yet. “What the hell is taking them so long?”
Maya bit into a sweet roll as she continued her frenzied pacing. “I don’t know,” she confessed through a full mouth. “Damn this bread is tasty.”
Sara rolled her eyes at Maya. She stopped walking and watched her best friend devour her fifth sweet roll since the men had departed from the keep. She had to smile, allaying her worry a bit. Her dearest friend was turning into an upright walking pig. The woman would eat anything that couldn’t eat her first these days. Amazing that she wasn’t as big as a house.
The doors to the castle whistled open, inducing the women to turn around and watch the entrance to the great hall with anticipation. Thomas and Dugald appeared within eyeshot a moment later. The laird strode purposefully toward his wife, stopping only briefly to tell Gilfred to take his leave.
Maya inhaled the last bite of sweet roll as she surveyed her husband through searching eyes. He looked pale. Her unflappable, heroic, warlord of a husband looked quite shaken up. She swallowed the roll despite the lump that had developed in her throat. “What is it, Thomas? What’s the matter? Didn’t it work?” she whispered.
Thomas and Dugald stood there dumbfounded, neither of them able to locate their powers of speech.
“Tell me before I die of curiosity!” Maya wailed. “Did it work or not?”
“Please!” Sara seconded. “I cannot take the suspense any longer!”
Thomas drew in a deep breath and slowly nodded to his wife. “Never ha’ I seen the likes of that, love,” he muttered. He shook his head. “Never.”
Maya threw her hand over her heart to steady her breathing. “Then it worked?”
Thomas swayed his head in an up and down motion, indicating the affirmative. “Aye, love. They ha’ gone from here.”
Chapter 27
Thomas sat in his chair by the hearth, drinking ale from his tankard while he and Dugald mulled over the day’s events. The ladies had long since retired, both of them exhausted from all the pacing they’d done this evening while waiting on their men’s return.
Thomas was quite tired himself, but far too wound up to sleep. “I ha’ tae admit, Dugald, that a part of me did no’ believe my lady’s tale. It seemed tae fanciful tae be true.”
Dugald sighed as he set his tankard down. “I’m ashamed tae say that there was also a part of me that thought the same.”
“There’s no denying what we saw today, my friend. Our ladies truly are from this future they ha’ spoken of.”
Dugald shook his head. “’Tis a boggle, is it no’? Tae think that our women are from the year 2001! By the saints, Thomas, how can it be?”
He shrugged. “I canna say. I dinna think anyone can.”
“Do ye believe that Argyle and Harold will come back, or do ye think that they will want tae stay in the future when they get there?”
Thomas gulped down a heaping swallow of ale and sighed. He reflected quietly for a moment, trying to sort out his feelings. “Aye, I believe they will want tae come back home, tae please the ladies if fer no other reason.”
Dugald nodded. “There is that. And I know Argyle’s affections lay with Lena. I just hope ‘tis enough tae leave the future fer,” he muttered.
Thomas smiled as he stood up and patted Dugald heartily on the back. “I made certain they would ha’ enough inducement tae come back home afor
e they took their leave.”
“I dinna ken.”
Thomas shrugged, grinning all the while. “They know they are tae be knighted do they return afore my bairn’s birthing.”
* * * * *
Dr. Reginald Chance held the picture frame in his hands and smiled shakily. He sat down at his desk and cried softly while the memories overwhelmed him.
His girls looked so happy in that photograph. Best friends since childhood. At least they were together when they died in the worst hurricane to ever strike the east coast. For that, he would always be thankful to the powers that be. Still, it was little consolation.
Dr. Chance set the picture frame down and picked up another. It had been the better part of a year since his girls had passed on, yet every day grew more wearisome than the last. He was alone in the world now, his wife having died years ago, and now his Sara and Maya had gone on to be with his wife.
He could find happiness in nothing these days, not even in his work. Every time he helped to bring a new life into the world, he silently wondered how much time that the fates would allot to them. His wife hadn’t been given long. His girls had been given far less.
Dr. Chance had turned in his resignation a month ago, then sold his house with damn near everything in it. It had been hard to do, selling his home, as it contained so many fond memories of his family’s life together. But he had to do it, for his own sanity if for no other reason.
He scanned the room that was his old office wistfully, knowing that tonight would be the last time he could do so. Tomorrow the Crenshaws would be living here, creating new memories to replace the old ones. He sighed as he swiped the tears from his eyes. How could he continue to go on here though?
A loud crashing sound came from the living room area, causing Reginald to jump to his feet. It sounded as if the front door had been broken down.
Good god, on top of everything else was he also going to be robbed?
Indifferent to the threat of death, he opened the office door and strode purposefully toward the living room.
The spectacle that awaited him was not one he had bargained on. Since when did thieves brandish swords and don kilts? There were two men, one silver-headed with his age and thick of beard, the other young, blonde, and clean-shaven. Both were ominously tall and thickly roped with muscle. Both wore their hair long, with a single braid plaited at each temple.
The older, more sinister looking one of the lot stepped forward and sized Reginald up. “Are ye the healer known as Chance, sire tae the fair Lady Sara?”
Reginald furrowed his brow at the odd accent. His brogue was thick. The man sounded as Scottish as he looked. “Yes, I am. Or I was. My daughter is dead now.” He shifted wearily on his feet, his eyes bloodshot from crying. “What the hell are you doing in my home?”
The younger, blonde Scot smiled then held out his hand in greeting. “I am called Argyle. Yer daughter is no’ dead, my lord. We are here tae take ye tae her and tae our Lady Maya.”
Chapter 28
“Please don’t yell at me Dugald. You’re making me feel awful.”
“Good, Sara! I’m glad I’m no’ the only one! How can ye be so bluidy calm? It makes a mon believe ye could care less fer weddin’ him!”
“You know I want to wait for my father! There! Now I’m screaming too! Does this make you feel better?!”
“Aye, it bluidy well does! I’m thinkin’ that–”
“Enough.”
The one word, uttered quietly yet forcefully by the MacGregor put an instant halt to their squabbling. Thomas glowered at Dugald as he jabbed his dagger into a piece of grouse. “Ye are both ruining the meal fer everyone at the table. Break yer fast peaceably and quit shrieking like tae bluidy shrews.”
Maya glanced up wide-eyed at her husband, but didn’t contradict him. Sara and Dugald had been at each other’s throats for almost a full week. Apparently her husband was as wearisome of the couple’s constant battling as she herself was.
“I’m sorry, Thomas,” Sara countered, “but I didn’t start it.”
The MacGregor shook his head in frustration, as vexed with Sara as he was with Dugald. “Nay, ye dinna lass, yet can I understand my commander’s upset. Harold and Argyle ha’ been gone fer four straight fortnights. ‘Tis possible that they willna return. Will ye put off marrying Dugald forever?”
Sara arched her back as rigid as a lance. She threw a scathing look at Maya and frowned. “I suppose you agree?”
Maya glanced up from her trencher and darted her eyes between Dugald, Sara, and her husband. She chewed slowly, saying nothing. Finally, she sighed and nodded her head. “Sweetheart, I know you want Daddy C to see you get married, but Thomas is right. It’s time to be realistic.”
“But Maya—”
“No, Sara,” she interrupted. “Be realistic.” Maya lowered her voice so no one save those at the table could hear her next words. “It’s no secret around this keep that you may be carrying his child.”
Sara had the grace to blush. She closed her eyes and lowered her head. “I am,” she whispered thickly. “And I’m terrified.”
“Sara, love,” Dugald crooned, “ye carry my bairn?” His lips arched into an arrogant smile as he reached across the table and stroked her hands.
“Uh huh,” she admitted. “I am.”
“Then ‘tis settled,” Thomas instantly decided, making it clear with his uncompromising tone of voice that he would listen to no counter-arguments. “Ye will wed with Dugald the soonest. Start planning the celebration in posthaste.”
“Why do ye look so grave, milady? Dinna ye want tae ha’ my bairn?”
Sara shot her head up and smiled at Dugald through tear glistened eyes. “Of course I do,” she vowed. She shrugged helplessly. “But I’m scared to death to birth it.”
Maya laughed, rubbing her well-rounded belly as she did. She shook her head and grinned. “No sweetcakes, this is scared!”
She ignored the chuckles her comment elicited and plowed onward. “Sara, unlike me who is as big as a keep at seven months, you can’t be more than one month along. That I know for a fact. If you want to give your dad more time to get here, plan the wedding for the last possible moment, until you’re close to showing, but at least plan for it! You’re not being fair to Sir Dugald and you know it as well as everyone else sitting at this table knows it!”
Sara nodded as she contemplated the pros and cons of saying yes. To say yes meant that she would proceed with her nuptials whether her father arrived in time to witness them or not. To say no would mean that her child could end up carrying the tag of bastard, a virtual scarlet letter in the fourteenth century. No, she couldn’t afford to be selfish. She wouldn’t do that to her baby.
“Okay,” she relented, “we’ll plan.” And at Dugald’s triumphant grin she added, “but I am setting the date for three months away. Unlike the rest of you, I still believe that they will return and I will not deprive my father of the chance to see me to the chapel doors.”
“And if they dinna return?” Thomas inquired.
“Then we will still proceed as planned,” Sara promised. “I don’t want my child to carry the label of bastard in your world.”
The MacGregor nodded. “’Tis settled then, this.”
“Aye,” Dugald beamed, “’tis settled.”
* * * * *
“What the hell is he doing? He’s been hogging the bathroom for an hour now. I need to shower!”
Harold glanced up from the sword he’d been polishing and regarded Reginald thoughtfully. He darted his eyes toward the motel room’s bathroom door and back. “Ye know how the lad is aboot his girlie books. Ye go figure what the lad is doin’ in yon bathing chamber.”
Reginald winced, eyeing the door thoughtfully. “Never mind,” he muttered. “I no longer have the desire to bathe in there.”
Harold grunted, returning to his sword polishing.
An hour later, Harold was as chaffed with Argyle as Reginald was. “How much seed can one mon spi
ll, lad?” He pounded on the bathroom door, shouting at the top of his lungs. “Come out from there! Argyle! I ha’ tae make pee-pee in yon toilet!”
Reginald glared at the door as he crossed his arms over his chest. “I am beginning to think it would be wise to rent two rooms instead of just one.”
“Nay,” Harold denied insistently, “’tis a waste of good coin.” And then, “Argyle! Ye will retire from the bathing chamber afore I set fire tae every last one of yer bluidy books!”
A moment later, Argyle emerged from the bathroom looking as sated as an Arab pasha freshly returned from his harem’s pleasures. He sighed contentedly as he headed straight for the bed and plopped down onto it to snuggle into the covers. “As we say in the future, Sotted, ye may go ‘shake the weasel’.”
Harold strode through the bathroom door with the speed of a destrier in pursuit of the enemy. “If ye keep up with them books lad, ye willna ha’ a weasel left tae shake,” he shouted over his shoulder.
Reginald fell into the chair nearest the television set and glowered at nothing in particular. “How the hell did I ever end up wasting away my retirement with these two idiots?” he mumbled.
* * * * *
“Sara?”
“Yes, Maya?”
“I’m beginning to think it’s time to start looking in the village for a midwife.”
Sara looked up from the tapestry she, Maya, and Lena were sewing and smiled sweetly to her best friend. Maya was now in her eighth month and growing more and more frightened with each passing day. “It will be all right, Maya. He’ll come, I know he will.”
“Lady Sara is right,” Lena announced. “I know that Argyle will return in all speed. Mayhap the sailing is rough in the ocean fer this time of year.”
Maya fumbled with her needle then speared it into the tapestry. “Rough,” she muttered wearily. “I’m sure you’re right.”
* * * * *
“What did the weather reports say?” Reginald put the question to Harold as he plunked down into the chair next to him. He accepted a can of Budweiser from Argyle who was seated at his other side as he waited in anticipation for Harold’s impending answer.