“My creativity is endless,” Katie gasped.
“No doubt, m’love. None whatsoever.”
Ramsay squeezed the cheeks of her arse, yanking her hard and fast down on him, as he thrust his hips upward and successfully completed round one with a groaning roar and Katie enthusiastically joined him.
Chapter 21
She’ll be sorely disappointed when she wakes.
Ramsay stared up at the ceiling, one arm behind his head and the other curled around Katie’s soft, warm body snuggled up against his side. He’d been awake for quite the while. He’d opened his eyes, wide and startled, to the shadowed room, all silent and gray. What had awakened him? He’d lain motionless. Waiting. ’Twas almost as though every particle of energy surrounding him had its breath held whilst caught in the in-between—the witching hour that blankets the world just before dawn.
Ramsay had held his breath too. Straining to hear the slightest sound. Reaching out with every warrior instinct he possessed. But all was calm. The eerie feeling had passed just as quickly as it had jolted him awake—’twas as though a wandering ghost had brushed a cold hand across his chest then continued on its eternal journey.
Fully awake, he’d lain there and watched a beam of sunlight grow broader and stronger as it stole into the bedroom window and crept across the floor. And he realized that he could no’ have been happier. He was still in tenth-century Scotland. MacTavish Keep. In bed with his beloved wife.
But a niggling of guilt tarnished his happiness.
When Katie opened her eyes and discovered they’d not been returned to the twenty-first century, she’d be beside herself. She’d mentioned going back several times last night whilst they lay in each other’s arms and caught their breath before continuing with the evening’s pleasures. She’d teased about making love in a tenth-century keep for the last time.
And Ramsay was at a loss for what t’do. He’d felt certain that meeting and rescuing Brant, the lost MacDara son, from the label of “bastard” and the clutches of the boy’s manipulating mother had been the reason for their journey. So, they’d done so. Set the boy on an honorable and proper path and given him all the tools and opportunities to make his life better. Ramsay was certain, with time, the boy would mature into a fine leader and warrior.
And yet, here they remained. What did the goddesses want?
“Guid mornin’ t’ye, m’lady,” Mrs. Macklemurry sang out, bellowing the words like a barroom ballad as she hurtled through the chamber door so fast that it bounced back against the wall. “The sun’s risen and so must we—up now, so’s I can pour yer tea and get ye dressed good and proper.” The detail-absorbed housekeeper buzzed across the length of the room and over to the bed then came to an abrupt halt. “Oh. Guid mornin’ t’ye as well, m’chieftain. I didna expect ye.”
“Obviously,” Katie grumbled without opening her eyes as she rolled away from Ramsay and yanked the pillow and covers over her head. “Come back later, Agnes.”
The order was muffled but clear.
Agnes Macklemurry gave Ramsay a proud nod as she slid the breakfast tray onto the table beside the bed. “I’ll just leave this here,” she mouthed before turning away, her movements exaggerated and slow in her effort to exit the room a great deal more quietly than she’d entered. The door barely had the nerve to click when she closed it behind her.
The final few moments of peaceful silence ticked by. Ramsay waited, eyeing the twitching mound of covers beside him. She was awake and processing her surroundings. Any moment now…peace would end.
“Why did Agnes bring the tray?” Katie asked from the muffled depths of the covers. Floundering her way to an upright position, she sat up in the middle of the bed, wondrously naked with curls tangled and wild, and the bedclothes swirled around her hips. She looked like an angry goddess rising from the sea of slumber. She scowled at the tightly closed chamber door then jerked her attention back to Ramsay. “Where’s Flora?”
No longer muffled, Katie’s tone hit him like a wall of ice. The question brought a frown to his own countenance. Where was Flora? He’d no’ seen the wee bletherin’ midge last night either and that was odd. Ever since she had proudly stepped into her role of Katie’s handmaiden, Flora had also firmly attached herself to Katie more permanently than a shadow—available whenever Katie might have even thought she needed something.
Ramsay contemplated Flora’s absence as he sat up and stretched his arms toward the ceiling. Surely, there was a simple explanation but what was it? “I havena seen her since yesterday mornin’ when the two of ye were at the east paddock t’see the new colts.”
“All these new people in the keep. The different clans. You don’t think…” Katie scooted out of bed while hurriedly combing her fingers through her long tangle of curls, slowing long enough to snatch a stray ribbon off the floor and knot it around the wad to hold her ponytail in place. She snatched her shift off the window ledge, yanked it on over her head, and shook it down her body. She paused and turned to Ramsay, worry shadowing her every feature. “This is the damn tenth century, Ramsay. Women are considered chattel, property free for the taking. We’ve got to find her.”
“You’re overreacting.” And Ramsay prayed to the goddesses that she was. The Celts respected women more than most cultures that Dwyn had shown him across the ages. The druids cherished females even more. The goddesses ordained it to be so. Women were the life-bearers. Sacred. But he also knew of what Katie spoke and that sent an icy rage coursing through his veins. There were always unpleasant outliers in every group. ’Twas best not to dwell on that possibility. He rolled out of bed, padded over to his distressed wife, and brushed a kiss to her forehead. “Perhaps she was just charmed by a lover and spent a verra nice evenin’ doin’ the same thing we did,” he assured her as he nuzzled another kiss to her throat and pulled her closer. Perhaps he could distract her for a wee bit.
Katie stepped away and shot him a chilling look that clearly informed him that was not the best thing he couldha said and there would be no distractions tolerated this morning.
Well, shite.
Tightening the laces of her everyday bodice, Katie shoved her feet into her tennis shoes and headed toward the door. “I know Flora. She wouldn’t shirk her duties or leave me hanging just to be with a man.” She gave him an even angrier glare. “Especially when she knows that you and Agnes are trying to replace her with somebody else.”
“Now wait just a minute.” Ramsay held up both hands against her accusation. “I merely said that Mistress Macklemurry felt that someone a bit more mature might be better suited for the position.”
“And you agreed with her!” Katie jabbed a finger in his direction, righteous fury flashin’ in her eyes like fearsome lightning about to strike.
He reached Katie before she could fire off another accusation. He knew the real reason for this anger. He knew the source of this silver-haired ferocity that rarely allowed itself t’be seen. Katie was struggling. Fighting like a drowning woman within a few feet of safety. She was grappling with her current reality and no’ handlin’ it well at all.
Grabbing hold of her shoulders, he squared her off in front of him and kept his tone low and soothing. “Katie—we will find her. Afore anythin’ else is done this day, we will find Flora. I swear it, ye ken?”
Katie didn’t answer. Just stared at him, wide blue eyes shining with unshed tears and bottom lip quivering. “Why are we still here?” she finally asked in a pitiful whisper that broke his heart. “Why?”
He pulled her close and held her, stroking the lovely stubborn curls that had already escaped the ribbon. “I dinna ken, m’love. I dinna ken.”
Katie shuddered in his arms with a deep intake of breath then exhaled a long sigh. Finally, she slowly pushed away, lightly patting his chest in the process. “We’ll figure it out.” She nodded more to herself than to him. “We will—right?”
Without a word, they made their way down to the kitchens in record time. He felt sure if Katie had been wearin’ her favorite jeans, she wouldha broke into a long-legged run down the steps and across the keep. As it was, she’d hiked her skirts up to her knees to scurry faster and Ramsay was no’ about t’be foolish enough to tell her she was causin’ a bit of a scene. The gawkin’ gossips could just be damned.
The kitchen had been abuzz with chatter and noise when they’d walked through the archway. Pots bubbling and steaming. Meat sizzling on spits and flour flying as a line of maids kneaded and pounded dough against the table. But as soon as the first servant spotted the lord and lady of the keep, silence rippled across the room like a wave racing up a shoreline.
“Can I be a helpin’ ye? Was yer breakfast no’ to yer likin’?” Mistress Macklemurry wove her way around the worktable and the baskets of root vegetables waiting to be prepared for the evening meal.
“Where’s Flora?” Katie cut right to the chase.
Mistress Macklemurry didn’t answer, just wrung her hands in her apron and gave Ramsay a somber look he didna quite understand nor was certain that he wanted to.
“You fired her, didn’t you?” Katie folded her arms across her chest, glaring at Mistress Macklemurry as though she were about ready to strangle her.
“Fired?” Agnes Macklemurry frowned and shook her head, quickly recovering from whatever it was that she’d been oh-so silently attempting to think to Ramsay. “If ye mean dismissed, then nay, m’lady. Why would ye say such?”
Katie visibly relaxed and stole a glance over at Ramsay. “I’d heard you weren’t happy with her,” she said with a saucy bob of her head.
Mistress Macklemurry’s mouth tightened into a flat line of displeasure. “Perhaps I wasna pleased with the way the lass went about things—but yer happy with the wee gal and that’s all that matters now isn’t it?”
“Where is she?” Ramsay stepped in. Time t’end this.
Agnes Macklemurry fixed him with a look that he clearly understood this time. She was trying to tell him that he was going t’be verra sorry he’d asked. Maybe so but it couldna be helped. He’d promised Katie.
“She’s tellin’ her sister goodbye.” Agnes’s gaze dropped to the floor and she dabbed her eyes with a corner of her apron.
“What?” Katie stepped closer. “She never mentioned a sister. Is she moving away?”
“No, mistress.” Agnes shook her head with a sad smile. “Flora’s eldest sister and the bairn that she couldna bring forth are leavin’ this world. They’re sure t’cross over at any time—if not now already, then soon.”
“Her sister’s dying?” Katie asked.
“Aye.” Agnes smoothed both hands down her apron. “Flora’s only sister. Just a year older than Flora—barely eighteen summers—leavin’ a husband behind t’care for two wee-uns that shouldna have t’say goodbye to their mum at such tender ages.”
Ramsay turned away, gut wrenching at the thought of a young girl almost the same age as his baby sister, dying while trying to bring a child into the world. He snorted against the burning gall of the injustice—death found instead of life. He recalled how his mother had said how relieved she was that such things were so much safer for a woman in the twenty-first century, safer for her Esme t’bring bairns into the world.
He turned back and stared at Katie. The same thing could happen to his dear sweet love. If they stayed here, if she became pregnant, if the time came and something went horribly wrong. Ramsay closed his eyes against the cruel possibility, and a new sense of resolve coursed through him. He would find the way to get them back. He would get his Katie back to the safety of the twenty-first century.
He felt a hand slip into his and squeeze. He opened his eyes and met Katie’s sad-eyed gaze. “We’re going to take care of Flora and her family, right?”
“Absolutely,” Ramsay said without hesitation. “Whate’er they need will be done.”
Chapter 22
“And a crock of butter.” Katie pointed the young girl toward the other end of the larder where the cream pans, jugs of milk, and butter were kept and preserved in the coolest part of the dirt-walled cellar that was basically a basement dug out and built against the kitchen’s outer wall. “One of those pails of milk too. Toddlers need milk. And cheese. Get that skin of cheese—make it two.”
Still scanning the shelves for whatever else Flora and her family might need, Katie pulled a good-sized bag of turnips and carrots up from the pile under the shelves, hefted it on her hip, and toted it across the packed dirt floor toward the doorway.
Agnes thumped two large baskets, overflowing with loaves of bread and crocks of pickled eggs and salted fish onto the worktable. She clapped her hands at the four young girls scurrying about the large food cellar gathering more items. “Hie yer steps now and do as yer lady bids ye! We’ll no’ have Flora’s family gone a wantin’ what with winter nearly at our door.”
“At least they agreed to leave their croft and spend the winter here at the keep.” Katie snatched bundles of dried herbs and small cloth bags of grains off shelves and packed them into the already bulging baskets. “From what I understand, Flora’s sister pretty much mothered them all after their parents died. Her brothers and the little ones are lost without her.”
“Aye, and her sister’s grievin’ husband left them—returned to the seas t’find his livin’. He couldna bear the pain of bein’ around his own children, what with his wife gone and all.” Agnes gave a fierce downward jerk of her double chin as she tucked a small knotted cloth of salt into the corner of one of the baskets. “And as much as ye love Flora, ye must admit, that lass canna fill her sister’s shoes—no’ for the lack of tryin’, mind ye, it’s just she’s too young t’ken what t’do.”
“I know.” Katie hefted one of the baskets off the table and handed it over to a tall gangly lad waiting just outside the pantry door. “Here’s the first. There’ll be at least three more, so you might want to get your friends to help so you don’t have to make so many trips.”
“Aye, mistress.” The lad’s face went scarlet as he respectfully bobbed his head then took off with the basket.
Katie climbed out of the in-ground larder as she shoved her rolled sleeves higher above her elbows. Her emotions were playing hell with her soul today. Another barrage of painful what-ifs hit her hard as she watched the boy hurry out of the kitchen.
What would’ve happened if she hadn’t been here to help Flora’s family move to the keep for the winter? What if the goddesses had scooped her and Ramsay up, sent them back to the future, and left the clans at MacTavish Keep fending for themselves? What would’ve happened to Flora? Her tiny niece and nephew? Her brothers?
The clans would’ve helped them all they could, Katie felt sure of that. But would they have done enough? After all, life was expected to be hard—everyone had their own battles to fight in the war to survive. Katie chewed on the corner of her lip as she slowly turned, watching every maid and serving boy, observing Agnes as they all bustled about the hot steamy kitchen preparing the day’s meals.
History wasn’t just history anymore. Never again would it be some emotionless story on a dry dusty page. These people—they were so much more than mere names in some book or some data file on her laptop. If she ever got back to the future and read those names now, she’d see faces, hear laughter, remember the kindness of a look, the friendly touch of a helping hand.
Moving slowly through the kitchen, Katie scooped up a small crock from the long worktable and smoothed her thumbs across the rough grai
n of the heavy clay molded and shaped to create a useful vessel. How many of these had she unearthed on digs? Always before, they’d been just bits of crockery, dated and studied for the level of craftsmanship. Now? Now…this was the crock that Agnes always used for the portion of salt that she placed beside her chieftain’s plate, so he could season his food even more to his own personal taste. It wasn’t just a pot or a tool. It was a way for Agnes to take special care of her beloved chieftain who she served with unconditional loyalty.
Katie swallowed hard and blinked fast against moisture gathering in her eyes. If…no, not if…when she went back to the future, all these people would be long dead. Katie closed her eyes and scrubbed her forehead. No. They wouldn’t be dead. It’d be just like now. They’d be alive—kind of—the years running parallel. Time isn’t linear—it’s layered. Damn—if I could only tell Papa that his theories had been right.
Papa’s fondest hobby had been reading books about time travel and he’d sworn that one day, somebody somewhere would figure out how to make it happen. Katie huffed out a sad humorless laugh. “I did it, Papa. I don’t know how, but I did it.”
Massaging her temples, Katie leaned back against the wall, out of the path of the scurrying servants. All this time-travel bullshit was giving her one hell of a migraine and that said a lot. She rarely got headaches—not even when she drank a lot more than she should. Her college buddies had always envied her. But she’d finally met her nemesis here. This skating-back-across-centuries business and sorting out all the confusing what-ifs—this was worthy of one hell of a skull cracker.
A hesitant pat on her shoulder made her open her eyes and see Agnes’s sympathetic face. “Ye’ve done all ye can, m’lady. More than enough, in fact.” The old woman stood taller and proudly nodded. “Such a fine carin’ lady, ye are. The lot of us are verra grateful t’serve ye.”
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