“That sorry-ass bitch.” No wonder Brant had no self-esteem if he’d grown up in that atmosphere. Beaten by his mother and shunned as a bastard by Clan Ross. It was a wonder the kid hadn’t run away from Gerta a long time ago. Of course, knowing Gerta, she’d probably played the if you desert me I’ll die, and it’ll be on your head card to keep the boy in line. Shifting her focus to the foul woman still bouncing around the men, Katie lowered her voice. “That cesspit offer is sounding better by the minute—just for the bitch, though. Not for the boy.”
“Nay, wife.” Ramsay gave her a narrow-eyed look that spoke volumes then turned to the young maid. “Flora.” His tone was sharp and stern—more like a barking growl than words. “See to a seat and some wine for yer mistress. She was recently ill and doesna need t’stand o’er long in this hot sun.”
Flora stole a quick glance in Katie’s direction, opened her mouth to argue but then apparently thought better of it and snapped her jaws shut. She gave Ramsay a quick curtsy then rushed away to see to his bidding.
“That was uncalled for.” Katie felt protective of Flora. The friendly, funny, little maid had stumbled and gossiped her way firmly into Katie’s heart. “Don’t pick on Flora just because you’re irritated with me.”
“Ye must take care at what ye hint at wife. That wee numpty will take yer offhanded words as permission to commit murder, ye ken?”
Ramsay’s intense scowl triggered a very small twinge of guilt over the Gerta-in-the-cesspit reference. An extremely small twinge. Might’ve even been gas from last night’s supper. The more Katie thought about it, the more she decided that any sense of guilt was wasted on Gerta.
“Fine,” she grudgingly agreed, adding an eyeroll to make sure Ramsay knew she wasn’t a pushover.
“And ’tis the lass’s job t’care for ye and letting ye roast in the blazing hot sun after being ill is no’ takin’ care of ye.”
Ramsay’s scolding tone was getting on her last nerve. She wasn’t some delicate fainty type that needed to be coddled. Good grief, I’ve been riding this menstrual dragon for years. I’ve got this.
“Mistress Macklemurry is already thinkin’ to train up someone else. She’s decided Flora be too young and flighty t’tend ye properly,” he added with a superior tone that broke the camel’s back.
“That ain’t gonna happen! You tell Mistress Macklemurry—” Katie stopped and regrouped. No. It would be better if she handled this. “No. I’ll tell Agnes. She’s to keep her mitts off Flora.” Katie made a mental note to hunt down the drill sergeant of a housekeeper as soon as she went back inside the keep. “I like Flora and she’s the only one I’ll have—got it?” she added.
Gerta’s obnoxiously loud laughter rang out across the hillside.
Katie jerked a thumb in the woman’s direction. “You concentrate on doing something about that.”
“And what would you suggest, wife?” Ramsay blew out a weary sigh as he joined Katie in glaring at Gerta and the smithy doing his damnedest to stay out of her reach. “Other than the cesspit,” he quickly added.
A breeze wafted the distinct aroma of sweaty male across her—her sweaty male, the one who held entirely too much sway over her in his current state of undress. Bronze abs and pecs glistening in Ramsay’s delicious shirtless state forgave a multitude of sins and muskiness. Ramsay scrubbed regularly in his rooms or she would’ve smelled him before now. He didn’t hold a candle to the pungency of the others.
Katie gave him a teasing wrinkle of her nose and sidled a step away, putting a bit of distance between them. “Toss Gerta over the cliff and then see me about making use of that lovely bathtub you ordered made. By the way, thank you.” A sense of benevolence curved her mouth into a suggestive smile. “I don’t mind sharing.”
Ramsay rewarded her with an equally suggestive wink. “I’ll be more than happy to share a bath with ye, wife. We can wash each other’s hard-to-reach spots, aye?”
She had to admit, she did find that thought more than a little appealing. “I’ll make you a deal.” Katie paused in her challenge, giving Ramsay a daring look. “You figure out a way other than the cesspit or even the cliff to get rid of Gerta, and I’ll wash any spot you want—as long as you want too.”
Snaking an arm around her waist, Ramsay pulled her tight against him and nuzzled a kiss to the tender skin behind her ear. “Deal. And I already have a plan in motion, wife,” he rumbled against her neck like a great purring panther, then kissed her again. “If all goes as planned, ‘twill be done by tonight’s feast.”
“Another feast?” Katie didn’t care that she sounded like a kid whining about having to eat broccoli for a second time in a week. She was sick and tired of feasting. If Brant was her golden ticket to getting back home, they needed to help that boy do whatever he was supposed to do and do it fast.
“Aye.” Ramsay released her then lifted his sword and slid a thumb along its edge. “Three more clans have arrived.” He paused and drew the sword closer to his face, scowling at the honed edge. “Take heart, though, dear wife. Tonight should be the last of the fealty gatherings for a while.” He gave Katie a downcast look that pulled at her heart. “The men of the north nearly wiped out most of the druid clans. There are no’ that many left.”
Katie squeezed Ramsay’s arm. “But you know the clans survive. You told me about the ones back in North Carolina.”
Waving the smithy’s assistant over, Ramsay handed the young man his sword. “A weakness. Just there in the blade.” The assistant nodded, made a quick bow, then scurried back to his master.
Ramsay folded his arms and thoughtfully watched the men and boys still out on the field practicing. “Our coming here may have changed things. We willna know unless we go back.”
Unless? The birch bark tea in her stomach gurgled out a did you hear what he said growl. “What do you mean by ‘unless’?”
Ramsay looked at her for a long while. Too long a while and she didn’t like what she saw in his eyes. Finally, he spoke. “Would it be so bad if we continued our lives here? Forever?”
Katie did her best to remain calm instead of grabbing hold of Ramsay’s shoulders and shaking him until his teeth rattled. She pulled in a deep breath of the cloying, damp, barnyard air of the practice field and slowly blew it out, sorting through her words before she spoke. “I have an unfinished life back in the twenty-first century, Ramsay. I’d rather finish that one than start a new one here.”
She saw disappointment darken his face before he glanced down at the ground and turned away. She couldn’t help it. She had to be honest. “Don’t you want to get back to your family? Your business? What about your father? Don’t you think he might need you?” She was clutching at straws here because Ramsay had finally voiced what she’d suspected all along. Ramsay loved this life. This time fit him perfectly—like a favorite pair of well-worn jeans that hugged your ass and didn’t cut you in half whenever you sat down.
Ramsay faced her, giving her a sad smile that made her feel like an ungrateful piece of shit. “I’ll get ye back to yer life, Katie,” he said quietly, then reached out and cupped the curve of her jaw with his callused hand. “I love it here—but no’ as much as I love you. I pray ye know that in yer heart.”
Sweat and mud be damned, Katie squeezed herself tight into his arms. Face turned to his salty-sweet neck, she decided that maybe he didn’t smell all that bad after all. He loved her. Something inside her twitched—a good twitch. Like the feel of everything falling into place right where it belonged.
“I love you too,” she whispered, feeling a little guilty that she’d so easily pull him away from his happy place just to be with her. She raised her head and smiled. “I just really need indoor plumbing. You know?”
“Aye, lass. I know.” Ramsay gently set her aside and motioned Brant over.
Katie’s heart hitched. Their talk was officially over. Ramsay had shut dow
n—just like he’d frequently done back in the twenty-first century.
Brant’s face lit up when he realized that Ramsay was calling him.
“I’ll leave you to it. I know you’re busy,” she said, suddenly feeling the need to be alone.
Ramsay caught hold of her arm. “Wait, if ye will.”
Brant reached them, politely ducking his head in Katie’s direction. “M’lady.”
Rich voice. Not deep as his daddy’s but that might come with age. Katie smiled and nodded. “How are you this morning, Brant?”
Keeping his gaze lowered, Brant smiled. “I couldna be better, m’lady.”
“Brant!” Gerta’s screeching call cut through the air.
“Oh, I bet you could,” Katie observed. “Incoming, nine o’clock.”
“Beg pardon?” Both men said it in unison.
“Never mind,” Katie muttered as Gerta bounced up next to her son and wormed her way in to stand between him and Ramsay.
“Did ye no’ hear me callin’ t’ye, son?”
“All on this end of Scotland heard ye, Máthair, I can assure ye.”
“Dinna get that tone with me.” Gerta pinched Brant’s arm, smiling when he flinched. She released him and turned to cozy up to Ramsay who wisely sidestepped her advances and placed Katie between them.
Gerta’s disappointment couldn’t be missed. She gave Katie another lousy curtsy paired with a malicious smirk. “M’lady,” she said in a tone that left no doubt as to how she felt about Katie.
Katie almost reflexively responded with, bee-otch, all lowercase letters, of course. But she caught the word before it jumped out of her mouth. No. I’m the better one here. I got this. She’d employ a much subtler tactic.
“So, tell me, Gerta, where did you and my husband meet?”
“Come, Brant. Yer skills will ne’er improve if we dinna practice,” Ramsay said in a subtly panicked tone as he hooked the boy’s arm and hurried him out to the field.
Coward. Katie turned back to Gerta whose stance had changed considerably after the men left them. “Well?”
“What’s it t’ye?” Gerta sniffed as she shelved her bosoms atop her folded arms. “I gave him a son. ’Tis all that matters.”
“Not really.” Katie shook her head, keeping her gaze fixed on Ramsay and Brant out in the middle of the field. “There’s four MacDara brothers—three of which are still in the future. Are you sure Ramsay’s the one?” She turned and faced Gerta. “He doesn’t seem to remember you.”
“All men lie,” Gerta said then turned and spit in the mud. “Ye think he’d admit to his high-born wife that he’d found comfort with the likes of me?”
Katie almost felt sorry for Gerta. Almost. She shrugged. “It doesn’t matter to me either way. That was long before he met me.” She gave Gerta her best eat shit and die smile. “But now he has met me. His wife. Don’t forget it.”
The corner of Gerta’s right eye twitched as she backed away. “Be ye threatening me?” She held up her tattooed wrist and sneered, “I bear the mark. I’m protected.”
Katie blew out a very unladylike huffing snort. Nanny Fay would’ve been mortified, and her father would’ve been proud. She took a threatening step forward, pointing at Ramsay as she did. “When it comes to that man right there, your protection amounts to shit in my book and you’d do well to remember it.”
“I’m no’ afraid of the likes of ye,” Gerta said, her grubby hands fisting at her sides as she sidled back and forth like a puffed-up cat about to pounce on its adversary.
“Are you really that stupid?” Katie laughed out loud. If Gerta was ignorant enough to jump on the high chief’s wife in front of every person here, she’d seal her death sentence. Already, they’d drawn the attention of several nearby men and women and more were gathering.
Gerta glanced about, noting her precarious situation. She backed up a step, her chin still defiantly lifted. “I’ll have my day,” she said with a low growl. “I’ve waited over sixteen years—I’ll have my day.”
“You’re not having shit, bitch.” Katie flipped a dismissive hand in Gerta’s direction, turned her back to her, and leisurely strolled away. By medieval standards, in front of so many, she’d publicly shown that Gerta not only had no worth but also that she didn’t fear her.
Nanny Fay would be proud…well, except for the profanity.
Chapter 19
“So, what’s the plan?”
Relentless lass. Ramsay patted the hand that Katie had firmly latched in the crook of his elbow as they meandered through the tables of food and drink. Servants tended guests on the sprawling lawn to the west of the keep overlooking the churning sea. It was early evening and a cool settling breeze and the sound of waves crashing washed over the gathering. With so many clans gathered and the heat of the season, outdoor celebrations were the order of the evening and this was the perfect setting.
He gave her the same look that he used to give Esme when he’d caught her stealing cookies too close to supper. “That’s thrice. Ye asked twice during the meal.”
Her narrow-eyed look at his mock scolding made him laugh.
Aye, this is true contentment. We need t’stay here forever.
“D’ye no’ trust me?” he asked with another teasing pat to her hand.
“About as far as I can throw you,” Katie curtly replied. She nodded toward a gaggle of young women circling Brant as though they were about to eat him alive. “That poor kid is totally out of his element. Looks scared to death.”
“Aye, well, he should be scairt. Life is about t’change for him.” Ramsay clamped his mouth shut, immediately regretting the slip. He stole a sideways look at Katie. Aye…she’d heard, and his blunder had stirred her curiosity all the more. Dammit. The stubborn lass would now nettle him t’death.
“Change how?” she asked.
“Ne’er ye mind,” he said in a tone that he knew would piss her off even more. It couldna be helped. She’d just have t’pout for a wee bit longer. Gordon had yet to appear with the final piece of the grand puzzle that would fix what a moment of poor judgement seventeen years ago had dumped in Ramsay’s lap—even though it wasna him who had made the bad decision. He was positive now that he’d ne’er been with Gerta but from the looks of Brant and his mark from the goddesses, one of his brothers certainly had. There was no mistakin’ MacDara blood or the goddesses’ sign.
“Agnes said that you and the goddesses hold the golden key to Brant’s future.” Katie fanned herself with what looked like a portion of a corset. When he’d teased her about the homemade fan she’d engineered, she asked him if he’d rather spend the evening with a hot cranky bitch or a cool comfortable wife. He’d chosen the latter and not mentioned her odd-looking invention again. “Is that true?” she prodded.
Before he could answer, Gordon stepped into the light of the torches beside the skirting wall and gave Ramsay a curt nod.
“In a manner of speaking, aye,” Ramsay answered, steering their leisurely walk to the raised platform that had been temporarily constructed at the edge of the cliff overlooking the waters.
He’d used his leverage as protector and high chieftain to sort out this naggin’ pain-in-the-arse situation for the good of all concerned. This was the right choice—he felt it in his gut—and all affected parties had agreed so far. All parties except Gerta and Brant, but they were about to learn their fates and they would agree if they kent what was good for them. He’d taken care of them the only way he’d seen fit. With those two out of their midst, maybe…just maybe, he could convince Katie to give the past a chance and hopefully, he could convince the goddesses t’leave them here.
“So, what are you going to do?” Katie asked with a sly smile, knowing full well that he’d still recognize the question for what it was despite the different wording. Not knowing what he had in mind was driving the lass insane.
I am a horny beast. But he was doin’ his best to avoid bein’ insensitive.
Guiding Katie up the steps of the raised platform, he seated her in the smaller of the two ornate chairs waiting at its center. He turned and looked out at the crowd, heart swelling at the sight of so many gathered to pledge their fealty and protection. This time. This place. Honor, courage, and dedication ruled the day. These folk kent well the true meanin’ of those words and lived them whole-heartedly. What he wouldna give to convince Katie to stay.
He lifted his hand to call for silence as Gordon inconspicuously led a short burly man to stand beside the platform shadowed by the placement of the surrounding torches. Ramsay had feared they wouldna be able t’find the man of the rumors. He ignored Katie’s inquisitive look, knowing full well there’d probably be hell t’pay later for no’ cluing her in. Ah well…she’ll forgive me once she sees what I’ve done.
“My kith and kin. My clansman.” Ramsay gave the crowd a few moments longer to quiet and cluster closer to the platform. He motioned for Brant and Gerta to join him on the dais, then signaled Brant to stand at his side. He clapped a hand on the boy’s shoulder and smiled, not missing the fact that Gerta stood there with a victorious smirk, gloating over all who looked upon her. He’d handle that problem next.
“Not only are we honored t’welcome clans Keith, Burnett, and Graham on this night, but we’re glad t’welcome the few surviving members of Clan Skene.” He nodded to the small grouping of a dozen or so men and even fewer women standing in front of the platform. “Decimated by the north men and their chief taken by illness, Clan Skene has still shown themselves strong by holding their few numbers together and maintaining their lands.”
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