by Gill, Tamara
Gwen laughed. “I’m glad ye like it. And I’m happy you’re here. Will ye tell me more about your home?”
There wasn’t much to tell. What a sad fact that the people who lived more than four-hundred years before her were wealthier and had more assets than she did. “There isn’t much to say. Sometime in the eighteen hundreds, my family emigrated from here to America. I’m still in college, although I’m not sure yet what I want to do. I’ve been taking anthropology and history, because I may want to be a museum curator.”
“That sounds most interesting. What exactly is a curator?”
Abby stood and dusted off her skirts. “A curator manages the acquisition, preservation, and display of museum artifacts. I would also authenticate the age and origin of pieces that are brought in for display. It was one of the reasons why I was so desperate to come to Scotland. The history here is beyond anything we have at home.”
“And now you’ll be able to look around our home and marvel at all the historical pieces of the future.”
She chuckled and started to pack up her bow and arrows. Not that she had to walk very far to gather them. “You’re right. Maybe before I leave I could put some historical piece in my pocket for a keepsake.” She paused as she waited for Gwen to collect her own arrows. “I do have a question, though. What is happening back in my time while I’m here? Does time slow down? Stop? Or does it continue on as normal?”
“It continues on as normal, or maybe it slows or stops. Actually,” Gwen said, waving her arms about, “I’m not really sure, to be honest.” She threw her a guilty look. “I’m sorry if ye have family or friends who may be concerned, but it won’t be for much longer. Each day the magic wears off on ye, and I’ll be able to send ye home soon.”
They started to walk back toward the castle. Gwen spoke to some of the field workers and women who passed them on their way, none of which Abby understood as it was spoken in Gaelic.
“How do you know the magic is wearing off? Can you see it?”
“Aye, I can. It’s like a glow that hovers around you. My mother and grandmother both had the gift. I hope, should I be blessed with a daughter, she will as well.”
“It’s quite fascinating now that I’ve calmed down, to appreciate the time I’m now living in. I really can’t believe I’m here, experiencing all this, but you needn’t worry about anyone missing me at home. I’m an only child and my parents have both passed away. Other than a few college friends, no one would be overly concerned and I am away on vacation. Like you said, I’ll be home soon. They’ll never know.”
Gwen smiled. “As you say.”
...
Later that night, Abby sat at the dais in the Great Hall with Gwen and her brother. Gwen was busy talking to Braxton, their heads close together in whispered speech. The room took on another life when animated with speech and laughter, the clan gathering for the meal. Aedan had given her cell back and now it sat snugly in between her breasts, hidden by the fabric that she wore. What she wouldn’t do to take a selfie right now.
Abby looked around the room, watched the dogs weave in and out of the diners’ legs, looking for food. Groups of people ate the stew and bread with vigor. Some cast inquisitive looks her way, but most kept their own company and savored the nightly meal. Abby would enjoy it more if they actually had cutlery and didn’t have to use a spoon or their fingers for everything.
“Did you enjoy the rest of yer day, Abigail?”
She swallowed her mouthful of mead and nodded. “I did. I found some parts of it a little trying, but overall it was good.” She met Aedan’s gaze. He seemed pleased with her answer and oddly, she was glad of it. No use bickering at each other all the time.
“Gwen tells me you’re very good at archery.”
She choked on her spoonful of broth and threw a surprised look at Gwen who grinned. “Good wouldn’t be a word I’d associate with my archery.”
“What, then? Competent?”
Abby grabbed a bread roll and pulled it apart. “I would probably term it as crap. Your sister has grossly over-exaggerated my talents.” Aedan sipped his mead, and her attention snapped to his lips and his throat as he swallowed.
“I don’t believe it. She said you did very well.”
“I didn’t. Trust me.” At that moment, a man came up to the table. He was dressed in a kilt and tartan the same colour of Aedan’s. They spoke quickly and to the side. The man’s accent was thick and hard to follow.
“The men on lookout have sent word they’ve seen the banners of Clan Grant traveling through The Red Hills. They should be here within the hour.”
Aedan ran a hand over his jaw. “Send word to Mrs. Turner and tell her to prepare the bedchambers in the eastern castle quarters. They’ll be tired after their long journey.”
“They’re early, Aedan. They weren’t due to arrive until two days hence.”
Abby cast an inquisitive look to Gwen at the vehemence she heard in the woman’s voice. It was the first time she sounded less than pleased with the Highland Games, or the guests who were taking part in it.
“Plans change.” Aedan continued on with his meal and didn’t try to converse with her again. Abby sat between a scowling sister and silent brother and wondered when she would be able to excuse herself to go upstairs.
Just when she was going to make her exit, the hall doors opened with a bang, and a rotund elderly man walked in. He had a long white beard and, instantly, Abby thought of Santa Claus. A younger man, one she assumed to be his son, entered behind him. He was tall and built well, like Aedan. But where Aedan’s features had been softened by the luck of good genetics, this man’s hadn’t. He looked as hard and as rugged as his muscled arm.
The large man waddled forward, his arms out in welcome. “MacLeod. ’Tis good to see ye, lad.”
Aedan stood, came around the table, and hugged the man. Abby took a calming breath. This man, for all his jolly appearance, was as housetrained as a lion, but something about him gave her pause.
“I’m very happy to see you again. I hope your travels were not wearying.”
“Aye, they were, but I’m hoping the journey was not for naught.”
A young woman entered the hall, and Abby felt her eyes widen. She was tall and yet still petite. Her long auburn locks were held back in a delicate type of knot. Gwen stiffened beside her, and Abby turned to see her glaring at the woman.
The young lady gave a small curtsy before Aedan. Surprisingly, he took her hand and pulled her in against his side. They spoke for a little time, the meeting between her and her family like a well sought after reunion, but if the seductive looks the woman was throwing at the laird were any indication, the girl had the hots for Aedan.
“Who are they?” she asked Gwen.
“Clan Grant from the Highlands. The old man with the beard is the laird, his son Evan, and daughter, Aline accompany him.”
“You say her name like it’s poison on your tongue.”
Gwen took a sip of her mead and shrugged. “It is. They traveled through here last summer. Her father declared her too young to marry, and it was the only declaration that made her stay palatable. This year our family won’t be so lucky.”
The young woman laughed and for the first time, Abby saw Aedan laugh, as well. For all his sister’s dislike of the girl, Aedan seemed to like her. Abby shifted on her chair, wondering why that made her feel…odd.
But that feeling was nothing like the one she felt seeing his face animated with happiness. He was as devastatingly handsome as she imagined. Perfect straight teeth, smile lines beside his eyes. His throat worked as he laughed, his whole persona drawing every eye upon him like a magnet.
Holy shit. He is hot!
“What did Aline do that upset you so much?” Abby spooned more broth into her bowl. It was some sort of meat soup with an assortment of vegetables bobbing about. It was a plain meal, but delicious.
“She tried to entrap Aedan in a compromising position. Luckily, my chamber servant is loyal to m
e and told me of the plan the girl had thought up, and needing the help of another, it was only fortunate she’d chosen my servant for the role. So, on the night she was to be caught bedding a man before taking her vows, it was me who walked into her room and explained to her that Aedan wouldn’t be coming, that night or ever.”
Abby chuckled. “You know, Gwen, we may not have started off the best of friends, but I’m starting to really like your gumption. Unfortunately, by the looks of how they’re together right now, I think she’ll end up your sister-in-law, whether you like it or not.”
Gwen watched them as they walked toward the hall doors. A flurry of servants were going in and out with an assortment of luggage.
“Aedan will be kind to her, but I do believe he thinks her too young to marry. I hope the lass doesn’t try any more conniving schemes.”
Abby patted Gwen’s arm. “I’m sure she won’t,” she said, not entirely sure of her own words.
...
Aedan walked Aline out toward their carriage. He knew the girl’s ploy and shouldn’t be alone with the lass, but she’d wanted help finding a bracelet she’d dropped coming inside. He caught something shimmering in the rushes near the doors and he leaned down and picked up the small keepsake.
“Thank ye so much, Aedan. I don’t know what I would’ve done had I lost it.”
He smiled and helped place it back on her wrist. She clutched at his arm, and a cold sweat broke out on his skin. He was a good many years older than her, ten at the least, and the attention she marked for him although not unpleasant, was a little suffocating.
“I’m starved after the journey. May I break my fast at your table?”
“Of course. ’Twould be a pleasure.” He helped her toward the dais and noted Abigail was in deep conversation with Gwen and Braxton. He held out the chair for Aline and smiled as she sat, her attention never wavering from him.
“Would you care for some bread and soup?”
She nodded. “Thank you.”
Aedan caught the gaze of Laird Grant, and he nodded. The old man looked pleased he was dining with his daughter. He turned his attention back to the girl. “I hope your travels were not too arduous.”
“Nothing is too much trouble if I know we’re to visit the MacLeods.”
A hand reached out in front of him and he sat back, frowning at the intrusion.
“I’m Abigail Cross, a guest of the MacLeods. I’m very happy to meet you.”
Aline didn’t take Abigail’s proffered hand, but only stared at it. Aedan quickly introduced the two women and didn’t miss the annoyance that passed over Aline’s features before she smiled in welcome.
“I’m very pleased to meet you, but pray, what am I to do with your hand? Why are you holding it out to me?”
Aedan clasped Abigail’s hand and placed it back in her lap. Her fingers were long, and her skin softer than he thought possible for a woman. Had the girl ever worked a day in her life? Most women’s hands here were a little calloused, either by sewing, gardening, or riding, but not Abigail’s.
He placed her hand palm up on her leg and ran his hand over it. Not a callous to be found. Fascinating.
A discreet cough from Gwen pulled him to his senses, and he snatched his hand back. Abigail, thankfully, ignored his lapse and continued to try and converse with Aline about the forthcoming Highland Games.
“I understand your brother will be competing in the games. What are his strengths?” Abigail asked.
A dismissing laugh escaped Aline as she sipped her wine. “My brother excels in all challenges, not just one.” She smirked. “I haven’t seen you before today, Abigail. Tell me, how is it that you came to be here?”
“We invited her,” Aedan said, meeting Abigail’s eyes. “She’s a life-long friend of the family’s. ’Tis only right she comes to stay with us for the foreseeable future.”
“You intend to stay?”
He didn’t miss the shock in the girl’s tone, yet why she would be threatened by Abigail he couldn’t fathom. He had always seen her as a sweet girl, but nothing beyond that. He’d certainly never wished to tup her. Abigail, on the other hand, was closer to him in age, with curves in all the right places and a woman he’d certainly tup, was she not so aggravating.
She leaned across him, and the action afforded him a sweet view of her bosom. Her breasts would be a good handful, and her skin, pale and freckle-free, looked as soft as her palm. His body hardened, and he took a sip of mead. ’Twas fortunate his kilt, with its many layers, covered him well.
“For the moment, yes, but it won’t be for a long duration. As much as I love the Highlands, the beautiful country and most welcoming hospitality of Laird MacLeod, I won’t be trespassing on them for too much longer.”
Abigail blinked up at him, mischief in her gaze, and his lips twitched. “Just so,” he replied, taking another sip of mead.
“’Tis probably for the best. The Highlands in winter can be hard for a foreigner. Where are you from, if I may ask?”
“France,” Abigail said, motioning to the servant for more whisky.
“Oh, you poor thing. It’s any wonder you’ve come to stay with your relatives. France is a ghastly place to live.”
Aedan inwardly smiled as Abigail bristled at the derogatory remark. From what his sister had told him about the future Abigail hailed from, “ghastly” wasn’t one of the words he’d associate with her way of life. Gwen had explained marvelous industries, suitable housing for all, and plumbing that involved more than a bucket and window to throw it out of each morn.
Abigail’s time sounded almost divine compared to the hard life they lived now. “Abigail is well cared for. I expect nothing less for a friend of mine.” Aline’s eyes widened at his stern tone. Whether Abigail was wanted here or not was irrelevant, and no matter his feelings on the matter, he wouldn’t have her treated with little respect. It wasn’t her fault she’d been pulled through time and plonked in his. His sister had a lot to answer for, and he would have to watch her more closely in the future to ensure she didn’t try anything so dangerous again.
“Clear the room. I have a need for dancin’ this night,” boomed a voice from the other end of the hall.
Aedan laughed at the Laird Grant’s declaration and his daughter’s resounding blush at her father’s drunken joviality. What was life without a little fun?
“Will ye dance with me, lass?” he asked Aline. She smiled and nodded, only too happy to dance, no matter her embarrassment.
He pulled her from her chair, but not before leaning down toward Abigail, enjoying the wariness that entered her dark eyes. “You’re next, lass.” She raised her brows in obvious challenge, and his skin prickled in awareness—an emotion he’d not felt for a while. ’Twas refreshing to feel anything, after feeling nothing at all for so long.
“I look forward to it,” she replied, not taking her gaze off him until he turned away.
Chapter Eight
Abby clapped to the bagpipes and singing from the two clans. The great hall echoed with laughter and joy and resembled what Abby assumed a medieval night club would sound like, should there ever be one. Whisky and wine flowed freely into goblets, and people danced, kissed in corners, and enjoyed the gathering of two great families, with little worry, for this night at least.
Gwen stood and pulled Braxton to the floor, and Abby laughed. The way the two looked at each other, was similar to lovestruck couples in the twenty-first century. It was strange seeing love, true love in this time. She’d always assumed historical marriages that involved affection were limited to the works of fiction and hearsay, but there was nothing fake about what Gwen and her guy felt for one another.
She caught sight of Aedan dancing with Aline, the young girl laughing up at him with large doe eyes. He, too, seemed to be enjoying himself, and he was actually smiling, not scowling at everyone.
A young man, one of the guards she’d seen outside the castle, bowed before her. “Would ye dance with me, Abigail, lass?”
“Yer doing wonderfully well, lass,” her dance partner said, laughing as she went to move in the opposite direction to everyone else. “Yer making me look the veritable expert. I’ll have to dance with ye again, me thinks.”
Abby laughed at his attempt to shade light on her dreadful dancing skills. “I do apologize. I’m not used to these sorts of dances.” And she wasn’t. The dances she was used to happened in nightclubs. Lots of people grouped together, grinding against each other, getting wasted with friends, hoping to find someone to get their rocks off with.
Dancing like she was now, with meaning behind the music’s tune, and the clans coming together in celebration in a form that hadn’t changed in centuries, made the ways of partying in the twenty-first century seem ridiculous. How stupid these people would think them should they see how they carried on. Like a bunch of drunken idiots, who were in competition to see who could vomit first.
“Ye doing fine, lass. Perfect, in fact.”
She smiled and laughed as he pulled her against him, dancing down a line of people. They turned at the end and went back the way they came. The music seemed to grow in volume with people almost yelling the lyrics. The atmosphere became unlike anything she’d ever known.
These people knew how to have fun, to enjoy themselves. “Thank you, but without your expert help I fear I would’ve failed miserably,” she yelled over the noise.
“Och, never. I don’t let any lass fail.”
“Stop flirting, Kyle. You’ll make Abigail blush.”