Lost in the Highlands, Volume One

by Lorraine Beaumont

  The sound of his voice startled me.

  “How did you know I was here?” Just as he instructed, I walked through the door and pulled it closed.

  “I could hear yer breathing from across the room. I kept waiting for ye ta hit the floor.”

  “Why would I hit the floor?”

  He turned and lifted his brow a notch. “From swooning,” he explained.

  “Swooning?” I gaped. “Why would I do such a thing?”

  “Ye were ogling my body with yer eyes, I could sense it.”

  “Oh, please,” I scoffed. “Get over yourself.” Even though that was exactly what I was doing.

  He gave her a doubtful look. “There is no need to tell lie’s ta me, lass.”

  “I am not….” Oh, what was the point? I gave up. He was right. I was lying. “Where am I… exactly?”

  “Ye are in Greystone Castle, lass.”

  “I know I am in a damn castle!” I stomped my foot in irritation.

  He gave her a warning glance. “There is no need to vent yer anger at me, lass. Obviously ye are the one who struck a deal with the gypsy.”

  That took the wind out of my sails. I made a deal with the gypsy but what bothered me was how he even knew about it.

  “I can see ye are surprised I know about the agreement, aye?”

  I merely nodded my head.

  “Ye must have agreed or ye would no be here. Now ye are bound ta me.”

  “Bound?”

  “Aye, lass.”

  He exhaled as though he was tiring of our conversation.

  “Did ye let her draw yer blood?”

  “Well…yes but….”

  “Then what is the problem?”

  “Well…” I wasn’t sure how to answer that. What was my problem? I did ask for a Highlander and here one was right in front of me, looking better than I could have ever imagined…

  Now that he put it that way, I wasn’t sure why I was so upset. Well, besides the obvious reasons. I thought, well, I wasn’t real sure what I thought, other than being a bit too drunk to think clearly at the time.

  “I thought it wasn’t real,” I finally said.

  He laughed. It was a hearty sound and warmed me immediately.

  “If ye thought it wasn’t real, then why did ye agree, lass?”

  Stupidity.

  Scratch that.

  That wasn’t the truth. The truth was… it was wishful thinking. I wanted a Highlander and wished for one, and like the gypsy said, I now have one right here in front of me. Now that I compartmentalized it, I really had no idea what my problem was. I should be ecstatic, not partially irritated and the other part…freaking out. (Well, maybe I should be freaking out a bit) I amended.

  “Where are we…well, other than in a castle?”

  He cupped his hands, slid them into the water, and splashed it over his face. Wiping the excess away with one hand, he turned to look at me.

  Droplets of water lingered on his long lashes and the faint scruff of stubble on his face. “We are in Scotland, lass.”

  I swallowed hard. “Scotland, you say?” I pressed my hand to my mouth. “That can’t be right,” I said more to myself than him.

  “Ye look peaked, lass.”

  “Who are you?” Even though I tried to keep the quivering edge from my voice, it still came out more of a squeak.

  “Gavin de Grey,” he said. “I am the current laird o’ Greystone Castle.” He cocked his head to the side. “Ye may call me, Laird.”

  “Oh—kay, Laird,” I choked out as my heart jumped into double time. “What century is this?”

  His dark brows creased as he gave me a confused look.

  “What year?” I nearly shouted.

  His expression remained surprisingly impassive.

  I switched tactics. “Who is your King?”

  “That depends on who ye ask.” His brow lifted another notch.

  “Who is the current King?”

  He made a face and exhaled as he sunk against the back of the tub. “King James.”

  “Oh.” I kneeled on the floor, gripping the side of tub to keep me upright. I wasn’t great with history but I did know if James was King, I was in the past.

  Apparently, the damn gypsy hadn’t been lying after all.

  “If ye want to find a real Highlander do ye mind traveling to a different time lass?”

  I remembered very clearly, hiccupping as I leaned closer on the table. “Meh-sure, why not,” I told her, playing along.

  “Are ye sure, lass?” Her rheumy eyes sparkled mischievously like she had a big secret.

  “Yep,” I had said and I recalled a wink to boot.

  I groaned, leaning forward.

  “Do ye need to relieve yerself, lass?”

  I looked up.

  The instant our eyes met, I felt like I may need to lie down, for like ever.

  Apparently, he was not immune either, for in that moment he looked like he might need to lie down as well.

  “No.”

  “Well, if ye are going ta be sick ye might want ta use the chamber pot in the corner,” he suggested helpfully, leaning to the left of the tub.

  I would have laughed at his horrified expression but… I heaved and ran to the aforementioned pot.

  Gripping the sides of the bowl, I leaned over and was surprised nothing came out. When I was sure I wasn’t going to be sick, I ducked out from behind the screen and walked back across the room.

  “Have ye finally figured out ye are somewhere ye wouldn’t have thought ta be?”

  Both his brows lifted this time as though he was accentuating his point.

  I nodded my head, accepting my fate. I tried not to think of the impossibility of the situation or that I just might be out of my ever-loving-freaking mind.

  He seemed to ponder this for a moment and then sank back against the tub, once again. Steam rose in the air and a light sheen of perspiration was on his face.

  There was no doubt about one thing, he was a mighty fine Highlander and I did ask for one—maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all…. right? I could stay here for a while… a mini vacation of sorts, and then go back home.

  He cracked open one eye and lifted a perfectly arched brow. “What are ye waiting for, lass?”

  “What?” I looked back at his handsome face. He was giving me another one of his curious looks.

  “I said,” he said slowing his words. “Wash the filth from my body before the water gets cold.”

  I understood him that time. “All rightly then,” I muttered. Blowing my hair from my eyes, I reached over the side of the tub and reached for the soap floating on top. My fingers barely closed over the rectangle bar before a firm hand grabbed hold of my own.

  “Take care with that soap. Tis the only one I have left,” he said.

  I got the gist of what he was saying that time and he didn’t even slow his mish-mash of words.

  Once again, I was reminded of words from modern day sprinkled, off and on, with Scottish words and old English.

  I tugged on my hand. He gave me the hairy eyeball, a warning of sorts I supposed, and released me. I frowned at the soap. It was purple. Purple?

  “Where did you get this?” I felt like I had just entered into an episode of the Twilight Zone.

  He reclined back in the water, shutting his eyes once more. “One of the previous witches left it for me.” Lifting his hand, he slid it back through his wet hair.

  “Why’d she do that?” A sudden flare of jealously shot through me—he was supposed to be my Highlander.

  He lifted his massive shoulders and lowered them. “It was an offering,” he explained.

  “What?” I gaped. “Wait...an offering?”

  “Yer a witch too, are ye not?” He slanted an eye open.

  “That depends on what you do with witches,” I hedged. Standing up from the floor, I glanced around the room, looking for an escape route if the need arose.

  “In another time, we would burn them but I have seen fa
r too many things of late and actually the stench of burning flesh really bothers me.”

  “Uh, what did you do with this other witch?”

  “I suppose she went back ta where she came from, but she left this for me.” He held up the soap. “What did ye bring me? More soap? Candies? Or did ye bring me some other wonder from the future to fill my belly?”

  “What?”

  “Ye are from another time are ye not?

  “Well…,” I chewed on my lip, pulling it between my teeth. “Maaybe?”

  “This conversation is tedious.” He closed his eyes. “I am waiting.”

  “For what…exactly?”

  “For ye ta wash me.” He exhaled and cracked open his eye again.

  Not having any options at this point, I stepped forward. “Uh, okay.”

  I walked around to the bottom of the tub, reached into the water, and lifted his foot. It was a very large foot. He pulled it back down and water splashed up over the front of my gown that had just recently dried out from my earlier drenching.

  “Are ye daft?”

  “What is with you people calling me daft?” I recognized the word from earlier, not to mention the numerous historical romances I had read.

  “Ye will want ta start with my hair and then work yer way down my body.”

  “How silly of me,” I muttered and made my way back up to the top of the tub.

  “There is a pitcher over there.” He inclined his head to the opposite side of the room. “Ye may use it to rinse my hair, and there is some shampoo as well, lavender I think.”

  “Lavender?” I gaped at him in shock.

  “Aye…” He gave her a pointed look. “Is there a problem?”

  “No…” I shook my head. “Not at all,” I said. Now I knew why the hall below had smelled like lavender.

  “I like the way it smells,” he explained and closed his eyes once more.

  “Of course, you do.” I didn’t know why this didn’t surprise me more.

  “Come now, lass, and get ta it before the water gets cold.” He lifted his foot up and propped it on the edge of the tub.

  Standing, I wiped my hands on my already wet gown and got the pitcher from the table. When I turned around he was giving me a strange look and my belly flip-flopped. Ignoring him and the giddy rush of excitement flowing through me, I returned to the side of the tub and set the pitcher on the floor.

  “So…” I hedged as I lifted up the bottle of shampoo and poured out handful of liquid.

  He slanted an eye open. “Yes…”

  “How often do you bathe?”

  “Depends…” he said and shut his eye.

  “On…”

  “Whether I need ta bathe or not.”

  He muttered something else that was hard to hear but I could swear he used the word daft again.

  Irritated, I smacked the glob of shampoo down of his head and vigorously rubbed it into his long hair.

  “How long were ye waiting for me?”

  His voice was pleasant and deep—very sexy.

  “What?”

  “Ye were waiting for me were ye not?”

  “Uh…” I flustered and knocked the shampoo on the floor.

  “Och, lass, careful. That is the only bottle I have.”

  Grabbing hold of the wayward bottle, I set it upright on the floor and resumed rubbing the shampoo through his hair. The silky mass slid through my fingers.

  “How long were ye waiting for me?” he asked, again.

  “I’m not sure what you’re asking me?” Distracted, my eyes floated back down to the water lapping just below his navel.

  “Looking for something?”

  He lifted the soap from the water from where my eyes were stuck.

  “Thanks.” I took it from his hand. “No, I don’t think so.” I reached up and felt my head. Did I have a concussion?

  “Are ye always this slow then?”

  “What?” I gaped at him. “I’m not slow.” My voice came out all screechy. “Why would you say such a thing?”

  “It seems that way ta me.” He shrugged his broad shoulders.

  “Jerk.”

  “Ah, another one of your strange words from the future I suppose.” He sighed. “Ye want to go back into the bog of mud?”

  “No.”

  “Well…” He lifted his brow. “Then make yerself useful.”

  “Fine,” I gritted. Grabbing the pitcher, I dunked it into the water a bit forcefully.

  He pushed back against the tub. “Och, lass, are ye trying to make me a eunuch?”

  I finally noticed where I submerged the pitcher. It was right below his navel.

  “Oops, sorry,” I said sheepishly and quickly pulled out the pitcher that was now filled with water and set it down beside the tub.

  “So, does this happen often?” I resumed rubbing his scalp. It was kind-of a turn on.

  “Does what happen often?”

  He sounded like he was from modern day again.

  I shook my head, not sure what to make of his mish-mashed language. He turned and looked up at me. “You know,” I said. “Getting girls from the future?” I elaborated, suddenly hoping that wasn’t the case.

  “Not often,” he said and this time I noticed his brow twitched. Was that a tell? Was he lying?

  “How did you know where to get me?”

  “I ventured through the mist and retrieved ye,” he explained. “Ye were exactly where the crone, I mean the uh, gypsy, told me you would be.”

  “How would she know?”

  He shrugged. “Can’t say. She wanted ta make a trade though and ye were it—this time,” he muttered under his breath.

  “What was that?” I stopped rubbing his scalp.

  He exhaled heavily. “She said if we went through the mist, another lass would be there waiting for us.”

  He smiled up at me.

  “She said ye would be much younger and toothsome.”

  There was a glint in his eye and I swallowed hard. “Toothsome?”

  Of course, I read enough romance novels to know what toothsome meant but I wanted him to tell me.

  “Aye, it merely means ye are easy ta look at.”

  “Well, am I?” I prodded, suddenly feeling unaccountably warmer than I had moments before.

  He stared at me for a moment and then nodded.

  “I suppose ye will do…for now.”

  My entire body went rigid and I had a sudden urge to dunk him under the water.

  “Get ta work, lass. I am tired and the water is growing cold.”

  Really? The water was scalding my damn hands. I scratched his scalp harder.

  “That feels nice.”

  Figures.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  LOCH MORAR, SCOTLAND

  Sometime during the reign of King James

  “This is how it works,” he said, pacing back and forth in front, his long strides making quick work of the distance between each wall in the room. He pivoted with his hands clasped behind his back and walked to the other side of the room. “Ye will stay with me… for a time…”

  “Excuse me.” I lifted my hand in the air. We had been at this for quite a while now.

  He paused and turned. “Aye,” he sighed.

  “How long will I be here?” I adjusted my position on the trunk; the little rivets were poking me in my left butt cheek.

  “I do not know.”

  “How long was the last one here?”

  “I cannot recall.”

  His eyes shifted to the side—a sure sign he was lying.

  “Was it a long time, like years?” I watched his reaction closely.

  “Not that I recall,” he deflected again.

  Sure enough, his eyes shot over to the side.

  He cleared his throat. “As I was saying…” He resumed his pacing. “Yer stay can be pleasurable or it can be, well…”

  “Well, what?”

  “Ye will see.”

  I wasn’t real sure what to make of this. I li
fted my hand in the air again, waving it around to get his attention. “What’s your name, again?”

  He stopped once more. “Gavin de Grey, the current laird of this fine piece o’ rock.”

  “So, this is Greystone castle, right?” I didn’t know why that name rang a bell with me. I felt like I heard about it before.

  “Aye, it is.” He shifted, turning towards the window.

  “Why does your name sound English?”

  “I am part English.”

  He gave me an exasperated look.

  Well, excuse me, I felt like saying. How in the heck was I supposed to know that? “Oh. Wait…how can you be laird if you aren’t a full-fledged Scotsman?”

  “Lass,” he sighed. “A Laird is nothing more than a person ta look ta in a time of need. The ruler or owner of a piece o’ land, and with luck, a home as well.

  “Oh.” I wished I had studied history more. The only reason why I knew about any of this was from reading romances—not the best resource for fact.

  “I can tell there is something else ye wish ta ask me.” His dark brows rose.

  “Well, I was wondering why you sound so….”

  He stepped closer and my heart did another involuntary flutter.

  “So…”

  “What is yer name?” he asked.

  My train of thought derailed as his warm breath wafted over my face.

  I swallowed hard. “Paige Walsh,” I finally managed.

  “Paige Walsh,” he repeated. “It has a nice ring ta it, I suppose.”

  “Thanks,” I deadpanned, immediately rankled by his ‘suppose’ remark.

  “Where do ye hail from, Paige Walsh?”

  “Huh?

  “Where do ye come from, Paige Walsh?”

  “You can call me Paige.”

  “Paige, then,” he said again.

  I had a feeling he was trying out my name, deciding whether he liked it or not.

  “America.”

  He nodded his head, seemingly accepting my answer.

  “What is your name again?” I already knew of course, but I liked the way he said it.

  “Gavin de Grey, the Laird o’ this fine piece o’ rock.”

  “May I call you Gavin?

  “Nay, lass.” He shook his head.

  “How about Grey?” Grey was a pretty-sexy name.

  He shook his head again. “Nay, lass.”