Lost in the Highlands, Volume One

by Lorraine Beaumont

  “I will even give ye one o’ the furs from my bed, not the good ones, o’ course.”

  “O’ course,” she mimicked with a hefty amount of sarcasm and a large dollop of disbelief at how quickly the conversation had veered from tending him in bed to sleeping on the floor, alone.

  “Ye may also bathe in the water once I have finished,” he told her and pointed to the now empty tub. “I am finished now, so ye should bathe as well.” He crossed his arms. “See, I am not… inhospitable.” He gave her a small but meaningful smile.

  Her blistering rebuttal puttered out at the sight of that smile.

  She was done for.

  “Great.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  LOCH MORAR, SCOTLAND

  Sometime during the reign of King James

  As she stood over the tub, watching the steam rise, she decided a quick bath wouldn’t be such a bad thing. Peeling off her wet clothing, she dropped them to the floor. Besides, he didn’t leave her much choice. It was either bathe up here, or down in the hall with his men. Luckily, he had matters to attend to, so she was alone to bathe in peace.

  Bracing her hands on either side of the tub, she slid down into the water. The burning heat immediately warmed her chilled body. She was amazed it was still so hot. Leaning back against the rim of the tub, the water soothed her aching, everything

  Unfortunately, it did little to soothe her brain, which was spinning a mile a minute. How did she get here? How many women had that damn gypsy sent here? How was any of this even possible? Maybe she hit her head harder than she thought and was now having some kind of concussion induced hallucination… except, she didn’t hit her head until she was already here.

  Not able to come up with any real answers to the deluge of questions swirling through her mind, she vigorously scrubbed her body with the pathetic sliver of hard soap he deemed worthy for her to use. She noticed he also took the shampoo along with the large bar of soap she had used on him and locked it in the trunk at the bottom of the bed. Lifting up the tiny sliver of soap, she tried her best to wash her hair.

  ♦

  Gavin sat in his usual chair at the head of the table in the great hall as he and his men made quick work of finishing off one of the last remaining barrels of ale they had stolen from one of the neighboring towns.

  Well, it wasn’t stealing per se, he amended, but a lengthy borrow until such time they could replace it with another. Of course, they had nothing to replace it with, so, it would be a really, really, lengthy borrow. But once they had the treasure, he would pay them back tenfold, or so he often told his nagging conscience, time and again to assuage his guilt. The problem, as it had been from the beginning, was getting the treasure out of the cave away from the serpent or ‘the monster’, of the Loch. Now that was the quandary. How did one go about getting a treasure from a monster that he had never seen and sincerely doubted even existed?

  The crone had told him it was real, as real as the mist she had disappeared through. The same mist he had gotten the lass from, in exchange for the latest witches’ freedom. She also told him if he stuck to his end of the bargain, he would be able to retrieve the treasure. But how did one go about sacrificing someone to a monster?

  At the time, he would have agreed to anything…but now, he had to wonder if the treasure was even worth it? His empty belly said yes, but his mind and heart had different ideas. He squelched down that foreboding thought, burying it deep into his subconscious to attend to at such time he would need to retrieve it.

  Besides, he sincerely doubted it would even come to that because he couldn’t seem to find the bloody monster in the first place. So now, what was he to do with the lass?

  Keep her?

  She was comely enough, he supposed, that is, he amended, when she kept her shrewish mouth shut. Aye, she did have a quick temper, he thought, as he remembered how her amber eyes had ignited with fury when he told her to wash the filth from his body.

  He chuckled aloud with the remembrance, which garnered a few curious looks from his men. He ignored them, as he usually did, and soon enough they went back to talking/bickering amongst themselves.

  Aye, he was looking forward to what the lass would do next. For him, that was foreign emotion to him to be sure, especially these days, but he found he was looking forward to it nonetheless.

  ♦

  The red coals in the fire had turned black by the time she was finished with her bath. Bracing her hands on the rim of the tub, she pulled her pruned reddened body from the now tepid water. Immediately her nipples hardened into tight buds from the contrast in temperature. Water dripped onto the cold stones under her feet as she used a small dishtowel sized piece of cloth to wipe the excess water from her body. Shivering, she pulled on the gown he was kind enough to leave out for her to wear, or so he told her as he was leaving. At least it was clean, but it made her wonder who in the hell it had actually belonged to.

  ♦

  After she gave herself a headache wondering how any of this was possible, she climbed down on the floor and tugged a smelly fur over her shoulders, trying to keep the chill at bay. She was almost asleep when she heard the door scrape against stone. Immediately, her body tensed.

  A few moments later, the door scraped shut once more as the heavy clank of metal sounded in the darkness as the bolt was brought down into place.

  “Lass, are ye asleep?” Heavy footsteps thudded on the stones as they drew nearer to her makeshift bed on the floor.

  Feigning sleep, she squeezed her eyes tightly shut.

  She felt, rather than saw, him standing over her body as her heart pounded a mile a minute, drowning out everything else. She held her breath, wondering if he could hear it too.

  When she was almost out of air, he mumbled some kind of expletive and shuffled back across the room. She gasped for breath as the bed creaked and two distinct thuds hit the floor. More things dropped with a swishing sound and then the bed creaked louder. He emitted a rather loud groan as more swishing and a final creak, sounded.

  “Good night to ye, lass,” he said so low she wasn’t sure if she had heard him or if it was wishful thinking on her part. Either way, the room became quiet. As her eyes drifted shut, the quiet was broken as he started to snore. It started out as a low rumble, at first, but grew in volume as the night progressed. Shoving the fur over her head to buffer the sound, she finally, albeit reluctantly, drifted off to sleep.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  LOCH MORAR, SCOTLAND

  Sometime during the reign of King James

  Gavin stood over her sleeping form, watching the rise and fall of her chest and the way her full lips parted slightly, expelling her breath. Irritation filled him. He swiped his hand over his face and pushed his hair back over his shoulder. Why he was irritated was not something he wanted to ponder overmuch, but it may have had something to do with the fact that when he mentioned her tending him in bed, she didn’t seem overly enthusiastic at the prospect. Women normally fought for his attention and all too willingly fell into his arms without the slightest provocation on his part. Granted, that had not happened for a while since he had recently escaped the hangman’s noose but it had happened before, quite often.

  Now however, that he was a wanted man, as were the other men with him, there were ‘13’ of them in total and they were damned. So, when the King had commandeered them from their fate, which was to die for a paltry misdeed or two and in some cases three, they had all readily accepted the reprieve he had offered them. But he had yet to do what was asked of him and instead of slaying the monster of Loch Morar, and in doing so retrieve the treasure; he was now awaiting the Kings retribution, as one would await the other shoe to drop.

  The other problem was that he also needed to feed his men, so they had resorted to stealing, which was another crime punishable by death. He only just missed the hangman’s noose only to be a candidate for the gallows once again if he was ever caught.

  ♦

  Paige was dreaming and it was
a rather good dream too. This dream was filled with ‘13’ handsome Highlanders and one in particular that set her heart to pounding. The sun heated her face and she rolled over slowly, enjoying the warmth from it.

  Something pushed against her arm.

  She cracked her eyes open only to find a filthy boot beside her hand. Her eyes slowly climbed up from the boot to a bare leg, then climbing higher, up a muscular body to the same blue-green eyes of the man she had been having the heated dream about.

  Scrambling up to sitting, she pushed her hair from her face. It would seem she wasn’t dreaming after all. “Good morning.” She rubbed her eyes.

  “What’s good about it?” he snapped.

  Paige tensed from his tone. “Looks like someone woke up from the wrong side of bed,” she mumbled.

  “Lass, ye need to speak clearly if ye want me ta answer ye. I cannot understand ye with all the mumbling ye always do, aye?”

  “Oh, so, Mister, aye, Och, and ye, is complaining about my speech?” Really? As if. She was only half way through one of her staple eye rolls when his expression changed and not in a good way.

  “Och!” He exhaled as a fierce frown pulled his dark brows together. “If I were ye I’d watch that sharp tongue of yers, lass, if ye want to keep it in yer mouth.”

  Wait…what? Was he kidding or threatening her? Just to be safe she swallowed back her snappy retort.

  “The morning is waning, and we need to break our fast before we leave.”

  “Well, don’t let me stop you.”

  His frown turned even more severe which she didn’t think was possible. “Ye are the one that will be making the food ta break our fast, so if I were ye I would get moving.”

  “How dare you.” She stood up, and the top of her head barely reached his shoulder.

  “How dare I what?” His brows nearly covered his eyes, as he stared her down— again, not in a good way.

  She may not understand everything he was saying but his expression alone made her hold her aforementioned tongue. “Okay.”

  “Once ye rouse yerself and do yer morning ablutions’ ye will need ta go down ta the cook room and prepare our meal so we may break our fast.”

  Paige wanted to break something, all right, but it had nothing to do with food. “Sure.”

  His scowl softened significantly but she still held her tongue. “There is water behind the screen.” And with that, he turned on his heel and left the room before she could even respond.

  After his hasty exit, she did rouse herself (his words) and went behind the screen to relieve herself. There was a bowl with water and she splashed some on her face. Exhausted from lack of sleep, not to mention the firm dressing down she had just received, she made herself reasonably presentable. At least she hoped she did because there was no mirror.

  Opening the door, she stepped out into the dimly lit hall. Stone covered the walls, and there were torches in metal hangers. The flames flickered as she slowly made her way through the darkened corridor and down the steep stairs, heading off in the direction she presumed the cook room to be. Surprisingly, she had only taken two wrong turns before she finally found it.

  ♦

  A good hour or more had passed before she could figure out how to cook something that slightly resembled food in a big black pot hanging over the fire. Granted, she had cooked in a cast iron skillet on camping trips with her ex, but nothing like this. This was ridiculous.

  Straightening up, she pressed her hands against her aching back, purveying her attempt at making breakfast. Food on a whole was on the slim side here. So, she made do with what looked like oats and made her version of Oatmeal, which didn’t look that appetizing. It may have had something to do the burnt bits of brown floating on the top and throughout the unappetizing concoction. And even though she made it, Paige was reluctant to taste it. There was no meat, either.

  There was something, however, that looked like an old piece of shoe leather on the rough-wood-work table. She supposed was some archaic version of bacon, however, she had no idea how to cook it or even cut it.

  The kitchen, which was more of a dingy room with blackened stone walls from smoke and one tiny window that barely let any light inside didn’t have much in the way of utensils other than a few spoons, which looked a bit too modern and she couldn’t help wondering if this was something brought from the future as well. If it was, they should have sent pans, food, and some damn decent clothing to wear. The dress was scratchy and had a strange odor clinging to it. There were some dried herbs but since she had no idea what they were she didn’t want to chance using them in the food.

  A rather large dog sat in the corner and watched her every move. It looked like it had mange since part of the fur was missing in spots and it also looked hungry. Using a long-handled wooden spoon, she dipped it into the pot and scooped up some of the ‘Oatmeal Surprise’ she made. The food stuck to the spoon like glue.

  With a hefty shake, she shook it off on the floor.

  The dog walked over to it, sniffed, made a whining noise, and then with his tail tucked between his legs he ran straight out the open door.

  “Good lord!” If the dog ran from her food, what the heck were all those men going to do?

  ♦

  “What is taking her so long?” Callum complained, rubbing his empty belly.

  “I do not think she knows how ta cook.” Muir reached up and scratched his head.

  “What did we get rid of the crone for? At least she could cook.”

  “Aye, but she wasn’t much ta look at.”

  “Who cares if she was comely, at least she could cook and look, we are now going ta starve.”

  “The lass doesn’t have much to work with, remember?” Muir added.

  “Aye, I remember.” Callum adjusted his bottom on the chair, leaned forward and placed his elbows on the table awaiting his meal.

  ♦

  Gavin massaged his forehead as he listened to his men moan like a bunch of hens. He was hungry too but he knew there was not much in the larder to cook. He felt bad for being so short with the lass earlier, but he was not sure what to do about her or the treasure he needed to retrieve. So he had taken his foul mood out on the lass. He decided, he would make it up to her, at least he hoped he might, but he wouldn’t make any promises.

  ♦

  As Paige entered the hall, thirteen hungry pairs of eyes tracked her every move. She dropped the pot on the table. The wood bowed underneath the weight. She wiped her sweating hands on her skirt and stepped back.

  “Come and get it,” she called as loudly as she could and then took another deliberate step away as the young man she remembered from last night stood and walked over toward the pot.

  “Och, lass.” His lip curled in displeasure. “What is that?” He pointed down at the pot.

  “It’s ‘Oatmeal Surprise’,” she informed him none too nicely, since she was tired and grumpy.

  His brow creased as he leaned forward and took a good sniff. Leaning back, he shook his head morosely. “What are the wee bits of brown in there?” He pointed down at the pot again.

  “That’s the surprise.” She took another step backward, looking for an exit.

  “Can ye tell me what it is?” His eyes, she noticed, were the exact shade of blue-green as her Highlander, err, roomie, and couldn’t help but wonder if they were related.

  “No…” She shook her head adamantly back and forth. “That would ruin the surprise.”

  Eyes filled with horror landed on hers. “I thank ye for yer trouble lass, but if it’s all the same ta ye, I think I would like ye ta make me something else ta eat.”

  “Well too bad,” she nearly yelled. “That’s all there is. Take it or leave it.” There was no way in hell she was going to make more food. This was hard enough to make and besides, she wasn’t lying, there really wasn’t anything else to eat. At least nothing she could identify.

  A squeamish look crossed the young man’s face as he lifted up a bowl from the table. Reac
hing out, he grabbed the wooden spoon and pulled. It didn’t move. Setting his bowl down, he tried again. This time he used two hands. Finally, the spoon came out making much the same noise as her body did when she was extracted from the mud yesterday. He whopped the spoon on the edge of the bowl and a rather sickly sounding plop of oatmeal made its way down inside.

  “Thank ye,” he murmured and stepped back away from the pot with a cross between curiosity and horror on his face at the prospect of eating what he had just scooped up.

  After that, the rest of the men, who all looked to be in their late teens or early twenties, lined up with similar wooden bowls as they took turns fighting with the spoon until they too had a bowlful of the disgusting meal she made. She didn’t blame them for the looks they were giving the food, as it too, made her wrinkle her face in disgust and she was the one who cooked it. Last but certainly not least, the laird, Gavin, my grumpy roomie, came to stand beside her. “Lass, is this the best ye could do?”

  “Yes,” she nearly cried. “I tried, I really did.”

  “I am sure ye did,” his tone softened. “I didn’t give ye much ta work with, now did I?”

  “No, you did not.”

  “I apologize, but that is all I have.”

  Fighting back tears, she sniffed. She wasn’t sure if they were from relief or exhaustion, maybe both. “I really did try.”

  “I can see that, lass.” He too lifted his bowl, finally, and scraped a bit of the ‘Oatmeal Surprise’ out of the pot. He slapped the spoon on the side of his bowl and it made a gross sounding plop when it finally released down into his bowl. “Thank ye, for yer efforts, lass.”