To Conquer a Scot (A Time Traveler’s Highland Love) Page 4

  She sighed. “I said I would, but if you want my promise, then I promise not to go there again.”

  The large tower to the left of the castle, a separate building to the others, placed them in shadow as they rode toward it. They crossed the bridge and Aedan stopped at the castle doors. Gwen stood waiting, the fear etched on his sister’s face dissipating a little when she saw Abigail.

  “Abigail. I’m so glad you’re back. I was so worried about ye.”

  Aedan helped her down. She brushed down her skirts and walked past his sister without saying a word.

  Gwen’s shoulders sagged, and he felt a little sorry for his sibling.

  “She really hates me for bringing her here. I don’t know what else I can do to make things up to her.” Tears welled in her eyes.

  Aedan jumped off the horse and handed his mount to a waiting stableboy. He hugged her quickly and walked her indoors. “Be patient, Gwen, and take some comfort in the fact she hates me as well.” His sister slapped his arm, and he laughed. “Give her a couple of days on her own. Don’t try and tempt her outdoors or to meals. She’ll soon get sick of her own company. Trust me, lass.”

  “Do you think that will work?”

  “Aye. I do.” Aedan walked his sister to the anteroom and the warmth of the roaring fire prickled his skin. He held out his hands to the heat. “And if she doesn’t, she’ll soon be gone, anyway. You need to stop fretting over the lass until it’s time to send her home. Instead, concentrate on the games in a sennight. There’s a lot of organization still to be done yet.”

  “I’ll do as you ask and throw all my efforts into making the next Highland Games one of the best the country has ever seen, especially since you’ll be announcing your betrothal on the final day.”

  Aedan raised his brow in surprise. “If I find the right lass, I shall. Dinna think I’ll marry any wench with a saucy smile.”

  His sister laughed, and he smiled. “Oh please, if that’s not the biggest lie you’ve ever told, I don’t know what is.”

  “I only said marriage, lass, not sleeping with them.” He heard his sister gasp as he walked from the room. “I’m going upstairs. I need a wash.”

  She waved him off, and Aedan looked into the main hall but didn’t see the lass from the future. He climbed the circular stone stairs before coming to his floor and heading for his quarters. The castle was cold all year round and he hoped the servants had the fire well-stoked in his room. Movement at the end of the corridor caught his eye and he walked past his door, coming to the end of the passage that split in two different directions. He spotted Abigail standing at the narrow window overlooking the waters of the Isle of Skye.

  He frowned at the sadness he read on her features. It was a sadness he could well understand; to be torn away from the only home he knew would be a veritable torture. His home, and Scotland in general, was a place deeply engrained in his soul and he’d be loath to part from it. In fact, he couldn’t imagine living anywhere but Scotland. The country flowed as much in his veins as his blood.

  Abigail slumped against the wall, sliding down until she was sitting, all the while oblivious to his presence. Silent tears ran down her cheeks and she swiped at them, as if annoyed by their presence.

  Aedan backed away and went to his room. He doubted she needed to hear him telling her she’d soon be home and no harm done. There was a slight chance his sister wouldn’t be able to send her back. Magic could be as fickle as the Highland weather.

  Och, he hoped this wasn’t so. The last thing he needed was a homesick lass with a temper as hot as his own. The games that were due to start next week were supposed to be peaceful, if not competitive. To have a woman skulking about wasn’t what he had in mind.

  His room was warm, the fire well-stoked, and he set the basin of water before the hearth and proceeded to undress for his wash. He was worrying for nothing. His sister was intelligent. She wouldn’t let him down, and Abigail would be sent home safely.

  Everything would turn out well.

  Chapter Six

  Abby stood beside doors that led out onto a courtyard. A thick stone wall ran the length of the grounds, and from where she stood it looked as if the sea itself flowed right up to it. An illusion of course, for the castle sat a fair distance away from the sea.

  She slumped against the building, the cold stone at her back chilling her as much as the arctic wind that whistled through the yard.

  This era was hard. Everything about it was coarse, dirty, and too different to comprehend. She shivered into a cloak her chamber servant had given her and watched a couple of kitchen servants weed a vegetable garden, their hands muddy, their clothing less than ideal for these weather conditions. Ski gear would be ideal…

  Abby frowned. Above all else, the stench was the worst. Not everyone here was able to bathe, and the body odor coming off some of the populace was enough to make her gag. The animals, unfortunately, were penned close to the castle, and pigs, even if kept well, stank to high heaven. It was only at times like these, when the wind from the ocean hit her before anything else, that Abby could breathe the salty, un-stinking air. What she wouldn’t do to be back in the twenty-first century, warm in her modest apartment that smelled of clean linen, soap, and perfume. She didn’t have a lot and was far from wealthy, but at least she had heat, hot water, and coffee.

  She swallowed, refusing to cry anymore. She needed to be strong. Gwen had promised she’d return her home as soon as she could. She would have to believe in that. Trust the woman and her brother, who seemed only too eager to be rid of her.

  “Abigail? May I speak with ye?”

  She didn’t bother to face Gwen as the woman came to stand beside her, instead she fought to control her emotions. She supposed the laird’s sister would speak to her whether she wanted her to or not. “What do you want?”

  “I’m going to be helping some of the village ladies prepare the needlework they’ll sell throughout the games. Would ye care to help me?”

  “What games?” she asked, having not heard of them.

  “Castle Druiminn will host the Highland Games this year. My brother will compete and should the stars align, choose a wife.”

  Abby fought not to roll her eyes. From the small tidbits of history she’d read about the Highland Games, the strongest man won the fairest lady. “I don’t understand your thought process, Gwen. You brought me here to marry your brother, so why go through all the trouble of hosting these games? Seems like a waste of time to me.”

  A slight blush rose on Gwen’s face, and Abby narrowed her eyes. “I’m not sure how I’m able to do it, but I have the sight. I can see into the future. I’ve been watching you for some months and believed your strong nature, independence, and moral character would make a most promising match with my brother. I had hoped when you arrived that you would be happy, and willing to participate in the games and prove yourself to my elder sibling.”

  Abby’s mouth popped open. Prove myself? The girl wasn’t for the feminist movement, obviously. “As much as I love history and this castle, and the landscape is amazing, I don’t want to live here. I don’t belong here. And I certainly don’t want to marry your brother. To parade around in an attempt to earn his favor is demoralizing. I want to go home. I don’t know why you can’t send me back already.”

  “I’m sorry. I thought you’d be happy about the gift I’d given you. The opportunity to live in a time not of your own, and possibly find love.” Gwen led them toward the kitchen, a lone building that sat on the opposite side from the main part of the castle. The area was littered with piles of hay, and some small animals ran about freely. The smell again reminded of her why she wanted to go home. Burnt rubbish, musty and tinged with the hint of rotting flesh, permeated the air. Spying some type of dead animal hanging upside down on a nearby building, she swallowed and continued following Gwen as she led them toward a group of women who sat under a large, leafy tree, their laughter carrying across the slight breeze.

  “I may be dre
ssed like a woman of influence, but I’m not fooling anyone. I stick out like a sore thumb. I would suggest you save your necks, and as soon as you can, send me home.”

  Gwen sighed and motioned for her to sit. The ladies welcomed her with smiles, but their eyes gave away their interest as to who she was. “This is Abigail Cross, a friend from the Continent who’s come to stay for a time.”

  “Hello,” she said, sitting down. Abby took in the colorful plaid that was already woven, but was being sewn together. Reds and blues were the most prevalent, with a touch of black. “Whose plaid will this be?”

  A young girl, no more than twelve, smiled up at her. “It’s going to be the laird’s new plaid. We’re also making a pleat for his future wife, whoever she may be.”

  “Oh.” Abby met Gwen’s eye and looked away. “It’s charming. Do you want me to help sew?” She offered her help, although she hoped they’d decline. She’d only ever sewn the odd button that had come off a shirt or pair of pants, never an outfit that was going to be presented to a laird.

  “Aye, the laird will be marryin’, and soon we hope. He’s a fine lad—man, I should say. He deserves happiness.”

  Picking up the plaid, Abby felt the woolen cloth. It was coarse beneath her fingers and no doubt would be itchy against the skin. “I believe there are other clans arriving in only a few short days. Maybe his future bride is among them.”

  Abby heard Gwen’s name and turned to see the mighty laird himself, calling out to his sister. She watched him for a moment. He was a large man, not in weight, but in stature. The kilt hardly hid the great, flexing muscles of his legs, the plaid over his shoulder only accentuating his disgustingly muscled arms. His chin and chiselled jaw sported an unshaved shadow. She’d never tended to think of redheads as her type, but Aedan MacLeod wasn’t a man to pass over.

  Here was a man who oozed strength—a Highland laird with an army and a multitude of servants all willing to do his bidding. The women seemed to like him a lot, too, so she could only assume he was kind.

  He caught her gaze and stared at her with unnerving indifference. Still displeased that she was here, he tolerated her presence with polite apathy. Well, she had not asked to be his unwelcome guest. She tore her gaze back to the women still hard at work. “Aedan MacLeod is a good laird, then? You all seem to regard him highly.” Gwen continued to talk to her brother, and Abby thought to take the opportunity to learn more about the family.

  “Oh aye, we do, Abigail, lass. Ever since he inherited the lands from his father, he’s ensured his people are cared for, his two sisters the most. Times are hard, but knowing our laird has our well-being in his thoughts makes things a little easier. Hosting the Highland Games this year will enable us to sell some of our chattels we’ve made and look after our families for the coming winter.”

  Abby started at the mention of another sister. “I haven’t had the honor of meeting the laird’s other sister. Does she reside here, too? Or is she married and living away?”

  They cast furtive glances at each other and Abby’s interest piqued.

  The oldest woman met her gaze, a tinge of sadness in her eyes. “No, not anymore, poor lass. After being returned from the O’Cain clan after marrying one of the laird’s sons, she’s entered a life of solitude with the church.”

  “Well, I’m sorry I haven’t met her.” How odd. Abby knew they were holding something back from her, but what, she couldn’t imagine. “Maybe she will return before I depart.”

  “A great wrong has been done to her, and she’ll not be back. There are rumors the laird will declare war on the O’Cain clan after the games. And rightfully so,” the older woman stated, her jowls wobbling in temper.

  “What did the other clan do?” Abby thought back to what she’d read on the MacLeod family before being drawn back to their time. She couldn’t recall what the older woman was talking about.

  “She was handfasted, as I said, to one of O’Cain’s sons, and for a year and a day she lived at their home. I do not know of what horrors she endured there, but I imagine there were many. The laird’s sister returned blind in one eye, and to cause offense, they sent her home seated on a partially blind horse, led by a partially blind servant, and followed by a partially blind dog.”

  The other ladies mumbled their displeasure, and Abby stopped sewing, wondering how people could be so cruel. “And you believe your laird will declare war over this?”

  “Aye, he will. The rumors will prove true, I’ve no doubt. There isn’t any love between the two clans, hasn’t been for more than a hundred years. This marriage was our laird’s last attempt for peace, and Jinny was thrown back in his face like a worthless pebble.”

  What husbands, brothers, sons would go off to battle and never return home? When it came to such actions, were there ever any winners? With her boyfriend David, she’d certainly been the loser when he’d died. A life cut short for no substantial reason at all. It may not have been a clan war David had battled, but a cop caught up in a gang war didn’t end well, either.

  “Are ye looking forward to the games, lass?”

  Abby was happy for the conversation change, but the mention of the games left her feeling a little guilty for thinking marriage was the only thing that occupied the laird’s mind. With talk of war, it was any wonder the clansmen were looking forward to the revelries.

  Not to mention, these people relied on this type of activity to live, to make a hard life a little bit easier. “I am. I’ve never been to one before. And please, if you need any help, with anything at all, don’t hesitate to ask me. I’d like to be useful while I’m here, if possible.” As much as she hated being stuck in this harsh time, stuck she was, and she may as well be helpful, if she could.

  “Oh no, my lady. You’ll be busy enough with the Highland Games and entertaining the visiting clans to worry about our stalls and such. Being the laird’s guest you’ll have many a brawny, attractive Highlander looking to make ye his wife. I should imagine you’ll be quite the popular lass.”

  She laughed, while also feeling a little sick at the idea of being courted. The last thing she wanted was to be carried off into the sunset on some laird’s shoulders, his rank breath breathing all over her. “I’m not looking for a husband.”

  The women stopped what they were doing and stared at her as if she’d lost her marbles. “But you’re a woman of means and of age. Why are ye not looking for a husband? Are ye entering the church?”

  “As a nun? Oh, God no, but I’m young. I’m sure I’ll marry one day, but not yet.”

  “Well, you’re a wee sweet-looking lass, and next week when the games begin, you’ll be courted, so ye better prepare yourself as best ye may.” The older woman gestured to the woman around Abby’s own age who sat across from her. “Who was that lad who visited some months ago?” She thought for a moment. “Laird Cullen of Clan Roxborough, I believe. If he doesn’t turn every lady’s gaze, I don’t know who will, notwithstanding our own laird, of course. Our MacLeod will always be a favorite.”

  Abby smiled. It was understandable they loved their laird more than any other, and would never gainsay him in front of a guest of his, but she was still deciding what she thought of him. Handsome yes, but as prickly as a cactus bush in Arizona he most certainly was.

  “So what will happen at these games exactly?” The women stared at her, and Abby made a mental note to try and remember not to stand out like a nitwit who knew nothing of their life.

  “How can ye be a guest of the laird’s but not know anything about a highland game? You must have traveled a great distance to be here and lived a verra sheltered life.”

  “You have no idea.” Abby chuckled, placed her sewing down, stood, and dusted off her skirts. “And you’re right, I’m not from Scotland or England, so I know little of the ways here, but I look forward to learning as much as I can before I return home.” She nodded and walked toward Gwen, who stood talking to a man she hadn’t seen before today. The slight flush on the woman’s cheeks made it
easy to surmise Gwen felt something for him. Abby came and stood next to them and smiled.

  “Abigail Cross this is Braxton MacLeod, the clan’s best swordsmen and distant relative to us all. He’s also competing in the games.”

  Abby held out her hand to shake his, and he jumped back as if she were about to grab his nether regions. Heat seized her body, and she dropped her hand quickly. “Forgive me. I meant to shake your hand. It’s how we greet people in my country.”

  He threw her a quizzical look, but smiled a little. “I’m honored to meet you, Abigail. Any friend of Gwen’s is a friend of mine.”

  Abby smiled at Gwen, knowing what the play was between these two. She would lay money down that the two were in love. “Good luck next week, Braxton. I’m sure you’ll do well.”

  “I truly hope so. I have high hopes my future will be settled at the completion of the games.”

  She nodded and left them alone. It was obvious by the longing gazes between the pair that she was only a third wheel. She walked toward the castle the same way Gwen had taken her earlier, but spying a staircase leading up to the stone bridge near the front, she changed direction and went that way.

  The courtyard was still abuzz with servants. She nodded to those who made eye contact, and tried to be as friendly as possible. If she was stuck here for the foreseeable future, she needed to have as many friends as she could muster. These times were dangerous enough, without creating enemies.

  Abby entered the castle, the damp, cold stones making her skin prickle with gooseflesh. She rubbed her arms as the small passage opened up into the Great Hall. Trestle tables with long wooden benches filled the space. At the end of the room, a larger table, the dais, ran in the opposite direction to those before it, obviously where the laird sat each night.

  She looked up at the wooden beams that spanned the roof. A large window sat at one end, while near the dais, a roaring fire burned behind the table. A minstrel’s gallery ran the length of the room, and from here she could see two servants dusting the dark wooden railings.