To Save a Savage Scot

by Tamara Gill

  There were stories about Gwendolyn Macleod that her mother used to tell, of the woman’s passion for life and family, a great healer and possibly even a witch. How she’d risked her life numerous times to save those she’d loved. Kenzie had grown up thinking the woman was Scotland’s very own Joan of Arc, although that was probably a little fanciful.

  Soon, the gates to her home loomed out of the darkness, and turning down a small drive, Kenzie pulled up in front of the house. Lights blazed inside, and she was thankful the house had guests so that she wasn’t coming home to an empty home. Mrs. Gibbs, her cook, would no doubt be watching TV in the private living room. She’d been part of the family for as long as Kenzie could remember and looked after the guests very well while she was away.

  Coming into the foyer, she shouted out hello to Mrs. Gibbs who shouted back that her dinner was in the oven. “Thank you,” she said, heading toward the kitchen. Tomorrow, as planned, Mrs. Gibbs was taking a well-earned holiday. The guests would check out before ten o’clock, and with her mama in London, Kenzie would be free to go back to the year 1605.

  She spooned the leek and potato soup into her mouth and daydreamed about medieval Scotland. What she would see and do. What would Gwendolyn think of her arrival? Shock, concern, or happiness? Kenzie would soon find out.

  …

  The following evening, alone in the house, Kenzie went to the library, over to an old tome that had all of her ancestor’s recipes for different ailments. The leather-bound book all but vibrated with history, and although Kenzie didn’t need to be anywhere specific to travel back to the seventeenth century, it seemed only right that she was near what was once her ancestor’s.

  She collected the bags she’d packed a few days before, and she checked that everything that she needed for the trip was in them. She hadn’t left a stone unturned in planning this journey. Kenzie had scoured Scotland for clothing that would suit the early seventeenth century. The shoes were the only items that she’d struggled with and, finally, had gone with ankle high boots and a few slip-on shoes that resembled slippers, but were sturdier. No one would be looking at her feet in any case.

  The gown she wore today was a beautiful piece of clothing, with its elbow length sleeves and corseted waist. It truly was a dress reminiscent of a time long gone. She’d hired a seamstress to make three of the gowns, and the brilliant woman had sewn the corset into the gown, eliminating the need for others to help her dress. It was a perfect solution for someone not of the time period.

  Her hair already up in a messy bun, she wrapped a woolen shawl about her shoulders and deemed herself ready enough for the seventeenth century.

  “Right then.” Kenzie picked up her bags, and taking a deep breath, she started to chant the Gaelic words that would take her back in time. The room spun, slow at first, before gaining speed to the point where her stomach churned. Voices and sounds shouted out around her, the layers of time that separated past and present thinned and allowed the past to intersect with the future.

  Kenzie focused on the time and place that her ancestor Gwen MacLeod had lived in 1605 and ignored all the distractions until time morphed into alternate angles, before Kenzie collapsed on the ground and everything went black.

  Chapter Two

  Black Ben, formally known as the Laird of Ross, woke up in a tangle of blankets and straw. The pounding in his head caused vomit to rise in his throat, and he grappled for the cup beside the bed for relief. Once the burning liquid of whisky slid down his throat, his body heaved and he cast up his innards onto the floor, ignoring the loathing he had for himself being in such a state.

  Ben flopped back onto the pillow, some of the straw filling prickling the back of his head. One thing he hated about being away from home was the comforts of his bed, the soft linen and feathered mattress. Nothing like the hard boards that came up to greet his back, or the bugs that fed on his person at night—enough to make a man scratch his skin off.

  He rolled over and groaned as the movement churned his stomach once again. Perhaps he would partake less of the fine ale and Scottish whisky tonight and concentrate on the pleasurable flesh about the place instead. Waking up in this condition would not do.

  The sun moved out from beneath some clouds, and the room lightened considerably. Ben flung his arm over his eyes, not wanting another part of his body to hurt. Everything below his neckline was hurting enough.

  The sound of the inn’s door slamming ricocheted through his brain, and he made a note to speak to the publican about his rowdy guests. As the Laird of Ross, his comfort while staying here should be the owner’s priority.

  How long he lay there, the smell of vomit permeating the air, Ben couldn’t say, but as night fell, and his stomach finally stopped protesting its abuse, he gathered his things, threw some chilling water onto his face, and made his way downstairs for a liquid dinner. Damn the food, he needed a drink.

  Shouts of welcome abounded as he made the dining room. The smoky peat fire burning bright in the corner of the room gave the ambiance of comfort and warmth, when in reality, the lodge, situated at the foot of the Waternish peninsula, was anything but homey. A whorehouse in the middle of nowhere would be a better term.

  “The usual, Laird?” the barmaid said, her teasing grin ruined only when she smiled, and the full extent of her rotten teeth appeared. But then, he didn’t have to kiss her.

  “Aye, lass. Ye know me well.”

  She winked and poured him a good cup of the golden liquid. “I’m more than willin’ to know ye better. Just say the word, Laird, and I’m all yours.”

  Ben smiled, liking the lass even more. “I’ll hold ye to ye words, lass, so ye better mean them.”

  “I do,” she said, moving away to serve another patron.

  Ben looked about the room and caught sight of himself in a mirror just beside the dining room door. His shoulder-length hair was matted, dirty, and in need of a good wash. Well, perhaps tomorrow he’d go down to the shore and bathe. He could, of course, send for warm water here, but the cooling ocean was more appealing. The inn’s water was dirtier than himself.

  Ben downed a few more whiskys and ate a bowl of stew for good measure. He nearly choked on his mouthful when a hand came down hard on his back, sending him forward in his chair. “Aye, I thought it was ye, Laird of Ross. What brings ye into Macleod land?”

  Ben stood. “Braxton, lad. ‘Tis been a long time.”

  The man laughed and then frowned. “Aye, too long. ‘Tis good to see ye. And Gwen will be happy to see ye as well. She’s outside, probably demanding all sorts of things from the publican’s wife. We don’t normally stay here, but Gwen couldn’t stand a minute more in the carriage and asked to stop for the night.”

  Damn. Ben clenched his jaw, not wanting to see a happily married couple, and certainly not his best friends’ sister whom he’d liked more than he ought as a young lad. “Aye, I can see Gwen, lass doing such a thing.”

  Braxton sat beside him, smiling politely to the barmaid when she asked what he’d like.

  Ben frowned at the lass when she used the same beguiling tone on Braxton that she’d used on him. When Braxton ordered a lager and didn’t react to the wench’s flirtation, she slammed the drink down and walked off in a decided huff. Ben grinned.

  “How are ye, Laird? You seem well, other than the bloodshot eyes or the fact that ye stink of vomit.” Braxton flicked at Ben’s tunic. “Ye have a great dollop of it still on ye clothes.” Braxton took a sip of his beer, his eyes contemplative.

  “Och, I may have drunk more than I ought the previous evening, but that’s not up for discussion and neither are my clothes. What is, though,” he said, sitting back down, “is what are ye all doing traveling about? I would’ve thought Gwen would be at Castle Druiminn looking after Abby and the new bairn.”

  “Aedan has gifted me and Gwen land and a larger estate not far from their own. We inspected the property a few months past and will occupy the place from tomorrow. It’ll do us nicely, I believe. B
e a safe and happy place for our bairns.”

  Ben finished off his drink as the thought of Aline flittered through his mind. Of how excited she’d been upon first seeing his estate. It was nice that she’d been pleased with what she’d settled for. If anything, at least he’d given her a good home with an abundance of servants.

  “I’m happy for ye, Braxton, as I’m sure Gwen is, too, being so close to Aedan and Abby once again. Are the bairns with ye, then?”

  “Aye, she is and yes, they are, although they’ve probably gone running down to the beach with Nurse,” he said, turning as the door opened. “And here’s Gwen now.”

  Ben met Gwen’s gaze and smiled, standing to pull the lass into his arms. Holding her was like he’d stepped back through the doors of his keep. Home. “How are ye, Gwen, lass? You’re looking as pretty as Bell Heather in full bloom.”

  She laughed, patting his cheek as she took in his attire, not liking what she saw if the frown between her perfectly arched brows were any indication. “Very well, looking forward to settling at our new estate and making it a home. I’m getting too old to be going here and there about the country. My poor, old bones cannot stand the jarring.”

  Ben laughed, an odd sound since he’d not heard it for an age. “Old bones? I think ye’re a little too young to be talking of such things, but I have to agree, the roads about here are rough enough to break one’s back on a horse.”

  Gwen gestured to the publican. “Please have someone tend the horses, and I’ve ordered some clean hot water, so if ye could have it carried up to our rooms, I’ll be thankful.” Gwen turned to him. “Are ye on your way to see Aedan and Abby? I know they’d only be too happy to see ye again. It’s been more than two years since ye visited us last.”

  “A lot has happened since then, and I’m content to stay where I am at present. Mayhap I’ll travel over and see ye all, but I can’t promise ye anything.”

  “Well, when you’re able, the door is always open.” Gwen’s gaze turned serious, and Ben armed himself for what was coming next. It was the same forlorn look everyone got when they wished to bring up old wounds. “I was sorry to hear about Aline. I know I didn’t get along with her very well, but I never wished her ill. How is your son? Aedan told me he survived the birth.”

  Warmth threaded through Ben’s veins at the thought of his child, even if guilt soon followed due to his abandonment. He told himself it had been necessary—to get away from his holdings, the people who looked at him with pity and concern. He couldn’t stand a second more of it. Life was for the living, and there had been a time when he’d travel about for months, enjoying his homeland and the merry lasses who occupied it.

  He was a selfish bastard, mayhap, unforgivable even, but he wasn’t ready to return to Castle Ross, to be a father or a laird. He needed to mourn. To eradicate the guilt that had plagued him every day since he’d handfasted with Aline.

  Aye, he’d married the lass to ensure his friend Laird Macleod could marry his soulmate, but in the two years that they were married, Aline had grown more and more unhappy by the day. As much as he’d cared for her, given her his body, and lathered her in affection, he’d not loved her. Ben had hoped, in time, that the elusive emotion would blast upon him and he’d feel some such toward the lass, but it had never happened. Now, he doubted he was capable of such feelings. And it was only right, for Aline had never loved him either.

  “The babe is doing well and in the safe hands of his wet nurse. He’s not wanting for anything while I’m away.”

  “And how long might that be?”

  Ben chose to ignore the slight censure he could hear in Gwen’s voice. Only certain battles would he choose to fight with her, and it was not often he won against Gwendolyn Macleod. “Dinna fret lass. As the Laird of Ross, I will return.” His tone brooked no argument, and Gwen seemed to understand his meaning.

  She scoffed and dusted down her gown, wrapping her arm about her husband’s. “Come, we need to get the children inside so they rest before dinner.” Gwen turned before they left the bar. “Will ye join us for a meal? It looks like you could use a good feeding.”

  “Another time mayhap, lass,” he said, waving his cup at the barmaid for a refill.

  Gwen shook her head. “Please yourself, but the invitation is there should ye change your mind.”

  “Aye.” Ben watched them go, glad the lass he had once favored was happy and settled. He took a sip of whisky, finishing off his drink and admitted that as much as he’d fancied Gwen, a woman he liked and respected above any other, he’d not felt the elusive emotion of love for her either. He’d desired her yes, but love? No.

  Chapter Three

  Kenzie marveled at the stone home that looked so different from the one she’d inherited only a few years ago. Her ancestor’s home had changed quite a bit in the past four hundred years. Before her, stood a square keep with a little circular turret that went from ground height past the roof. The house, in its original state, was quite nicer looking without the many alterations and additions that had happened to it over the centuries. It looked welcoming and homey, whereas in the twenty-first century, it looked like a monolith that had something of each era imprinted upon it.

  Knocking on the door, Kenzie checked her gown and pulled her woolen shawl tighter as a chilling wind blew up from the coast. She’d woken on the shore in front of the house and had dusted herself off, happy to see her bags had joined her on the beach.

  No sound came from inside, and she stepped down the couple of stairs at the entrance to look about the yard. It, too, seemed deserted. She pursed her lips, puzzled. Had she landed in the wrong time? Made a mistake as to where her ancestor was supposed to be in 1605? Her stomach churned before the sound of a carriage caught her attention, and she stood to the side of the door, waiting and hoping beyond hope that it wasn’t a sword-wielding barbarian looking for someone to kill. Namely her.

  A cart carrying an array of furniture and trunks passed her by and went around the back of the house before a carriage came into view, along with a group of riders. Kenzie swallowed her nerves, having had no way of informing her ancestor of her arrival. She wasn’t sure how Gwen would take her visit. She hoped it would be welcoming, but then, they were strangers when all was told, and she’d yet to see the woman’s face that she knew as well as her own—from the portraits that hung of her in Castle Druiminn and this very house behind her.

  The carriage rocked to a halt, and a woman, much shorter than herself, stepped out, stretched her back, and mumbled her relief at being out of the vehicle. A horde of children followed, all squealing and running off toward the gardens, not paying the least mind to their visitor.

  Not sure if she should curtsy or speak, Kenzie waited to see what Gwen’s reaction would be. To be so patient and quiet wasn’t easy for her. As a woman who ran her own estate as a profitable business, she wasn’t used to not speaking out.

  “Gwendolyn Macleod?” she said at last, finally catching the woman’s attention.

  “Aye.” Her ancestor walked toward her, and Kenzie realized she was quite possibly the most beautiful woman she’d ever met. Fiery red hair and intelligent, deep green eyes took her measure, before Gwen grinned. “I have a feeling I should know ye, lass. Is that right?”

  Kenzie nodded. “Yes, that’s right. I’m Kenzie Jacobs of Clan Macleod, and I’m your granddaughter, many times removed.”

  Gwen closed the space between them, clasping Kenzie’s cheeks, taking in her every feature. “Aye, I know in my blood ye are who you say. Oh, my dear, dear child,” she said, taking Kenzie into her arms. “Is everything well? Why are ye gifting me with such a visit?”

  “Do not fear, all is well, but I wanted to see you, meet ye.” She went willingly into Gwen’s arms once more and only looked up when a man of similar age walked up to them, a curious look on his face.

  “And who’s our guest that ye’re so fond of, Gwen, lass? I don’t think I’ve ever met this young lady before.”

  Gwen laugh
ed, going to the man and wrapping her arm about his own. “Come inside, Braxton, for it is the best of news, but we should not discuss it here.”

  Kenzie followed them inside and noted the large wooden staircase that threaded up to the second floor. Large animal heads graced the wall, most of which were no longer hanging in the home due to the fact her mother hated taxidermy and the killing of innocent animals for the pleasure of men.

  But in this time, it suited the home, along with the iron chandelier and large rectangular table that sat in the foyer with nothing other than a vase of native flowers to cheer up the room.

  Gwen clasped Kenzie’s hand and pulled her into an adjoining room, ordering mead and bread from a waiting servant before shutting the door. Gwen seemed to prepare herself for her speech before taking Kenzie’s hand and squeezing it kindly.

  “Braxton, my love, this is Kenzie Jacobs Macleod, and I do believe she’s our descendant.”

  Braxton’s smiled dissipated, and Kenzie hoped she’d not disappointed him with her visit. She only wanted to bring joy to them all, not to be a burden or a cause of trouble.

  “Our descendant,” he repeated, frowning. “How so?”

  Gwen gestured for her to explain. Kenzie clasped her hands to stop them from shaking. “I’m your great great, many times over, granddaughter. My family line comes from your daughter Madeline.” She shrugged. “And so, here I am.”

  “Yes, here ye are.” Gwen pulled her into another hug. “How wonderful to hear that wee Madeline’s line thrives to your time.”

  Kenzie nodded, knowing that such knowledge would be welcome for a parent. To know their children survived long enough to have a marriage and bairns of their own. “From what I know of the family tree and from reading letters and journals—all the marriages in my line were happy ones, barring my own mother’s, but I’ll tell you about that another time.”

  A light knock sounded on the door, and Gwen bade the servant enter. The young lass in a grey, heavy skirt came into the room, her shirt tied up right to her neck and her hair tied back in a simple knot. She looked at Kenzie with large brown eyes, taking in everything, before walking out and closing the door behind her.