Turning around to lean back against the window ledge and fan herself, she caught Ramsay staring. “Now what?”
Ramsay’s gaze flitted up to the topknot she held in one hand then returned to her face. “Yer hair.”
“What about my hair?”
“ ’Tis wrought with curls.”
“That’s because your all-knowing goddesses didn’t let me bring my damn flat iron or blow-dryer.” She released the wad of curls and fluffed both hands through the mess, creating an even wilder look. “Ta-da. Welcome to fuzzball city.”
Ramsay didn’t react or say a word and his silence threatened to trigger an unreasonable case of tears. The son of a bitch needed to get the hell out of here. Now.
On top of all the other shit of the day, her stomach had started churning. Her head hurt and judging by the dull ache at about uterus level, she was gearing up for menstrual bliss: day one—unleash the cramping kraken.
“And they also should’ve let me pack some fucking tampons!” she added as she yanked her hair back up off her neck again. “I hope like hell you’re happy.”
Pure unadulterated fear flashed in Ramsay’s ever-widening eyes. As he backed away, he motioned toward the door then turned and hurried in that direction. “I’ll fetch Flora for ye…aye?”
Refusing to answer because she just didn’t have the energy to yell at him any longer, Katie turned back to the window, folded her arms on the rough coolness of the window’s stone ledge, and rested her sweaty forehead atop them. Ramsay could do whatever the hell Ramsay wanted. After all, hadn’t he done that so far?
Her lower back knotted with a nauseating cramp and a warm sticky wetness trickled down the inside of one leg.
Wonderful. Perfect ending to the perfect day. Shoot. Me. Now.
Katie remained at the window, praying for a breeze and a solution to this unbelievable detour her life had taken. Sad thing was—she cared about Ramsay. Cared about him so much that she wanted to track him down and snap his stupid neck for putting her through all this shit. Normal relationships weren’t supposed to be like this—one crazy situation after another. Of course—Ramsay gave an entirely different slant on normal.
She found a chair, dragged it over to the window, and returned to pillowing her head on her arms and plotting how to fix the unbelievable mess her life had become. A cooler breeze coming in off the sea stroked across her as though offering sympathy.
The chamber door groaned out a quiet creak, waking Katie from the dozing trance she’d slipped into from the soothing touch of the sea air. She listened intently without lifting her head. Someone was carefully moving about the room. Good. I hope they try to kill me. I’m in the perfect mood to launch someone’s ass right out this window.
She kept her head pressed against her arms and waited. The comforting coolness of a damp cloth sponged across her shoulders and the back of her neck. A callused hand patted her shoulder and made quiet shushing sounds as the refreshing chill of the cloth eased across her arms. Katie lifted her head and turned.
Agnes Macklemurry stood beside her, sympathy written all over her time-weathered face. “Come, mistress. I ken ye’ll be a wantin’ t’clean up. Flora and Himself says yer fond of bathin’ and I figured with yer courses come and the day ye’ve had that ye’d be a wishin’ for a bath all the more. Come into the anteroom. I’ve a fine bath ready for ye in there.”
Katie was in no mood to stand in a freaking bucket and have lukewarm water poured over her head. “Thank you, Mrs. Macklemurry, but if you’ll just give me a bowl of water and a rag, I’ll clean myself up and go to bed.”
“Ye can call me, Agnes, m’lady. ’Tis so much easier t’say.” The stoic old woman gave Katie a rare smile that made her seem years younger. Gently, she took hold of Katie’s arm and firmly steered her toward the paneled wall on the other side of the room. The side of the room toward Ramsay’s chambers.
Katie planted her feet. “I am not going to the chieftain’s rooms.”
With an understanding shake of her head, Agnes patted Katie’s arm and pulled even harder. “No, m’lady. Yer no’ goin’ to the chieftain’s rooms. I’m leadin’ ye to the anteroom. I’ve yer fine bath readied there.”
Apparently, the stubborn old housekeeper didn’t take no for an answer.
“Fine.” Katie shoved her unruly hair out of her eyes and wiped the sweat from her forehead. She’d get through this then try to sleep. Maybe tomorrow would be better.
“After yer bath, Flora will bring ye some fine birch bark tea. She’s already run t’fetch Old Creada t’steep it up proper. ‘Twill help with the pain of yer courses.”
Courses = periods. Birch bark tea = aspirin.
Weariness and the dull ache chewing its way through her middle was slowing down her ability to automatically translate medieval-speak to twenty-first-century knowledge. Katie just nodded as Agnes thumped the heel of her hand against the wall and activated the sliding panel that separated the anteroom from both her bedroom and the chieftain’s chambers. It didn’t do any good to argue—besides, she could use about a cupful of aspirin right now.
Staring down at her feet, watching each step she took, dismay filled her as she realized that only seven out of her ten toes still had a hint of the hot pink nail polish she’d chosen for her trip in what seemed like forever ago.
“Sit ye down here, m’lady, whilst I add one last kettleful to make sure its pipin’ hot for ye.”
Obediently sitting where Agnes directed, Katie waited, still staring down at her battered toenails as she massaged her throbbing temples. What a waste. And it was such a pretty color.
“Come now, mistress. Up we go.”
Wearily, Katie lifted her head and the heady feeling of having arrived at her own personal nirvana rushed through her. That was a bathtub. A real big-enough-so-she-could-lie-down-in-it-and-submerge-her-entire-body bathtub. The gloriously hammered metal box that had to have been brought by angels waited for her, steam rising from the water within. “That’s a real bathtub,” she said in a breathy whisper.
“Aye.” Agnes smiled, her eyes twinkling. “Himself had the smithy set to work on it as soon as ye arrived at the keep and they set it up today.”
Ramsay had ordered the bathtub made for her. Damn. This is better than diamonds.
Without hesitation, Katie shucked off her stained chemise and hurried to sink into the heavenly bronze-and-copper receptacle that was filled to the brim with steaming hot water. Every tense knot in her cramping body loosened to an easily bearable level and she reclined back against the tilted end of the tub and closed her eyes.
“Himself is a good man,” she purred as she stretched out her legs and breathed in the steam that smelled faintly of lavender.
“Aye, lass, that he is.” Agnes set to gently combing out Katie’s hair and deftly scrubbing and massaging her scalp. “I’ll speak t’Flora about pullin’ yer braids so tight. Yer poor scalp is red as fire. The wee numpty nearly pulled yer hair out by the roots.”
“Fine…whatever.” Eyes closed and deeply breathing in the soothing steam, Katie would agree to anything right about now.
After Agnes washed her hair then returned her to her lounging position, the softly humming housekeeper moved to the other end of the tub, reached down into the water, and grabbed up Katie’s ankle and started a vigorous massage of her heel and the ball of her foot. “A healer came through these parts and told Old Creada that if ye’ll put pressure on certain parts of the body, ‘twill help ease pains in the other parts. Reckon ’tis true?”
Katie smiled without opening her eyes. “Must be, because my cramps are letting up and my outlook on life is definitely improving.”
“Good.” Agnes rubbed in silence for a long span of time then softly chuckled. “Ne’er ye fear, though about those wicked cramps. Once ye set t’havin’ bairns, ye willna have to tolerate the bleedin’ near
ly as often. Always keep a babe in the womb—that’s what ye should do, aye?”
“Aye,” Katie weakly agreed just to appease Agnes. She hadn’t thought about babies. Obviously, she and Ramsay had dodged the bullet this time but what about the next time? Her birth control pills were back in a backpack in the twenty-first century and she wasn’t studied up on medieval birth control. We so have got to get back to North Carolina. For multiple reasons, safe effective birth control being just one of them.
“Ah now…dinna fret yerself, lass. Ye’ll get with a bairn the next time. I’ll ask Old Creada t’make a tea t’open up yer womb, aye?” Agnes frowned as she gently lowered Katie’s foot down into the water and picked the other one up. “And dinna ye let that Gerta, whore that she is, upset ye. Himself willna make the same mistake of layin’ with that filth twice.” Agnes rubbed harder. “ ’Twas a long time ago, ye ken? Himself was but a lad still wet behind the ears. At that age, a man’s cock does all his thinkin’. I’m sure he couldna help himself.”
“Yeah, but what about the boy?” The words had come out of their own volition. But now that she’d said them, she anxiously awaited Agnes’s opinion. The young man, Ramsay’s supposed son, had seemed…nice. A hell of lot nicer than his mother.
The older woman slowly shook her capped head. “I dinna have that answer. ’Tis for Himself and the goddesses t’decide.” She dug the heel of her thumb hard into the ball of Katie’s right foot, twisting it as she spoke. “That boy isna a pureblood from a goddess-blessed union.” Agnes shook her head again. “Just a bastard, he is, and more’s the pity. I hear the lad does his best t’compensate for his mother’s shameful behavior.”
A twinge of sympathy plucked at Katie’s heart as she thought back to the solemn young man standing in the great hall, more than a little humiliated by his mother’s antics. Maybe she and Ramsay could figure out a way to help him and at the same time kick his mother to the curb. Katie closed her eyes and sank down until her chin touched the water.
Yep. I’ll have to think on that. Help the kid but get rid of the bitch. Especially since as soon as the woman had said who she was, Katie had felt a burning surge of hands off, bitch, he’s mine and the more she thought about it, the more she realized she meant every damn word.
Chapter 18
It was a hot summer day and the shade-free hillside surrounding the keep was filled with sweaty men, boisterous children, and farm animals milling about. Clusters of women were busy tending pots over smoldering fires, mending clothing, and sharing the latest gossip. All occupants of the hillside, both human and beast, had one extremely noticeable thing in common: they all stank to the nth degree and the black mud created by last night’s heavy rain added a damp primordial earthiness to their already intoxicating stench.
Damn—I’ve gone soft. Katie tried to breathe through her mouth. Soap and water hadn’t always been plentiful on archeological digs and some cultures had different definitions of personal hygiene. But it had been a long while since she’d lived under such conditions. Her Princeton students never got this ripe.
Princeton. Wonder if I’ll ever see it again?
The clatter of swords followed by jovial shouts rang out to her left, pulling her back to her current reality. A tingling rush of appreciation and he’s mine amped up her body temperature by several degrees. There he was. Ramsay. Stripped to the waist. Wielding his sword. Facing off against Brant.
The two looked evenly matched. Katie tensed against a renewed sense of uneasiness churning in her gut. The tussling men were too well-matched. It was almost like looking at Ramsay’s reflection except Brant was a little taller than Ramsay and had a more muscular build.
Katie studied them as she headed toward the field. It soon became clear that whatever muscle or stature Brant had on Ramsay didn’t help the boy when it came to wielding the weapons. Ramsay’s lethality of choice might be the spear, but he was no slouch with a sword and dagger. He easily bested the boy in less than three moves with whatever weapon they chose.
And there was that damn woman. Gerta. Cheering the men on by jumping up and down until her tits popped out of her low neckline like a pair of oversized canteloupes.
I wish I had some duct tape. I’d fix that shit.
“Clan Ross needs to take up donations and get that woman some clothes that fit.” Katie walked faster, dodging children and chickens as she headed toward the patch of ground where several groups of men were testing their skills.
“They left, m’lady.” Flora skittered along beside her, reminding Katie a great deal of a chihuahua trying to keep up with the ground-eating gait of a racehorse. “Every last one of them gone afore sunup this verra mornin’.”
And they left the bitch behind. Katie slowed her long-legged stride out of mercy for Flora. “So Gerta and Brant are our problem now?”
“Aye.” Flora shooed aside a particularly aggressive goose. “But dinna forget about m’brothers and the cesspit.” A wicked grin lit Flora’s freckled face and sparkled in her clear blue eyes. “All ye need do is give the word.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” Katie headed straight for the practice field. “But I always try to fight my own battles. More enjoyable that way.”
“Aye, m’lady.”
The excited anticipation in Flora’s tone strengthened Katie’s resolve as she took a position on the field that was a few yards down from Gerta.
The infuriating woman glanced her way and gave a half-hearted go to hell curtsy that perfectly communicated exactly what she thought of Katie.
Oh, fuck you, bitch! Katie seriously considered firing off an explicit hand signal but restrained herself. Who knew if it would be understood and appreciated for what it represented. Instead, she gave Gerta a superior I’ve got him, and you don’t smirk.
Ramsay spotted her, held up a hand to stop Brant, and headed her way.
“Shall I run and fetch ye a seat, m’lady?” Flora flitted around her like a dog obsessed with playing fetch and waiting for his ball to be thrown. She finally stopped in one spot for a fleeting second, leaned close, and whispered, “Courses weaken a woman, ye ken? I dinna wish ye t’become faint. I can fetch ye a seat and a lovely tankard of honeyed wine. Ye barely touched yer plate this mornin’.”
Katie waved Flora away. “No. Not now. I’m fine.” Thanks to another cup of birch bark tea this morning, the only ill effect she currently had because of her period was the uncomfortable displeasure of walking around with what felt like a queen-size mattress of folded rags shoved between her thighs and pinned to her chemise to hold it in place. She’d never take a tampon for granted again.
Ramsay finally reached her, hesitating half a moment before pecking a quick kiss to her cheek. A brief flash of last night’s fear crossed his face, but he quickly recovered. “Are ye better this mornin’, dear one?”
“I was until I found out that Clan Ross dumped their garbage in our yard and left.”
“Aye, that they did.” Ramsay spared a momentary glance in Gerta’s direction then quickly returned his full attention to Katie. “But instinct tells me this may be why we were sent here—t’help the lad since he bears the blood of a protector.”
“Now you’ve got my interest. Tell me more.”
“The lad can ne’er be a protector because of his mother’s bloodline. She wasna chosen.”
“What exactly do you mean by chosen?”
Ramsay smiled as he sidled closer, scooped up Katie’s hand, and pressed a lingering kiss to her upturned palm. “The goddesses have been known t’meddle quite a bit in a protector’s life, ye ken?”
“Yeah…I got that part already.” Katie shivered, the resulting gush of heat blasting through her nether regions having nothing to do with the weather or her period. It was Ramsay’s more pronounced brogue whenever he lowered his voice to share something privately. Triggered that take me now feeling every time. She struggled to
overcome the eargasm he’d just caused and return to a more reasonable frame of mind. “So, you’re saying that the goddesses picked your sisters-in-law for both your brothers?”
“Aye…although, I must say they’ve grown quite a bit subtler with their methods since they placed m’family in the twenty-first century. So subtle, we tended to forget.” He nodded in Brant’s direction.
“So, what’s going to happen to Brant? Is he going to be forever known as the protector’s bastard?” What a shame. From the gossip she’d gleaned from Flora, the kid was…nice. He just needed a chance—and he also needed to be rid of his damn mother.
Katie shielded her eyes from the sun’s glare and studied the young man, not missing his long-suffering look of embarrassment as his mother shamelessly flirted with the smithy and the man’s young apprentice as they brought fresh swords and spears to the practice field. Ramsay had said earlier that once they’d completed whatever task the goddesses had assigned they’d be slingshotted back to the future. That boy could be a piece of the puzzle. “He seems good-hearted and there’s no doubt that he’s ashamed of his mother.” Still shielding her eyes from the sun, she turned to Ramsay. “Papa always said, ‘you can pick your friends, but you can’t pick your relatives.’ I’m pretty sure that applies here.”
Flora wiggled her way between Ramsay and Katie, her look of I’ve got a delicious secret firmly in place. “The stable boy o’erheard Gerta and her son.” Flora paused a moment, fire flashing her eyes. “She thinks t’unseat ye, m’lady, and claim Himself and yer position for her own. Brant said he’d ne’er allow it and Gerta beat him with one of the leather bridles. Told him he’d amount t’less than horseshit if it werena for her. The stable boy couldna believe such a braw muscular lad just stood there and took such a beatin’ but I dinna doubt it a bit m’self. The vicious whore’s more than likely been about such meanness since the lad was a wee-un. He doesna ken any better than to take his máthair’s abuse in silence.”
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