“I’m Daisy Stone. Tabby, that is, Tabitha was meant to bring this to you but she’s got a cold so she asked me to drop it off and I’m sorry to bother you but you’ve got your package so I’m all done and you can go back to whatever it was you were doing. I’ll be going now.” She started to walk away.
“Wait,” he said. “Your laird commands it.”
She spun around to look at him. “I know it was meant to be here by noon and I’m sorry but I can’t help that your custodian wouldn’t show me where to find you. This castle’s a maze. Take it up with him.”
At the end of the corridor behind her a figure appeared. Robin.
“Be off with you,” Jock said, needing her gone all of a sudden. He’d found himself looking at those lips again, the straining need to kiss her becoming overwhelming. He didn’t want Robin to see him losing control of himself.
She walked away without another word, passing Robin in the corridor. The financier looked at her as he passed, a smile flickering on his lips. Jock felt a flare of protective jealousy.
“Get in here,” he snapped at Robin, “and tell me why I should not remove your head right now for your lateness.”
Robin’s smile vanished and Jock was glad. The man had no right to smile at Daisy, his precious flower.
Why was he even thinking that way? She was no-one to him.
“Who was that?” Robin asked.
Jock put the box down on the mantel above the fire, ignoring the question. He would have liked to have known the answer himself. Who was she?
He could attend to that later. First, Robin, and the missing money. “Sit there and tell me what you have found out.”
Robin sat in the chair he pointed to, looking nervous. “I have heard some rumors but I must be given more time if I am to get to the bottom of them.”
“The king will give me no time to find the money I promised. What are these rumors?”
“There are whispers about who might have done it but I need time to question more people.”
“Then why are you wasting it talking to me? Go get on with it.”
“You told me to be here by twelve.”
“And you were late anyway. Now, I am going to ask you a simple question, Robin, and I want the truth. My new sword has yet to be blooded, need I remind you?”
“Please, my laird. I beg mercy.”
“Will you find the money?”
“I guarantee it, my laird.”
“How long do you need?”
“Two days, three at most.”
“The king will be here in that time.”
“Aye, I ken.”
“You seem unconcerned about that?”
“You dinnae think I care about this. I am still rebuilding my house in stone. How do you think I’ll get it finished if there’s no money to pay me? My laborers will walk away and I’ll be left with nothing but a shell of a home. A financier who can’t build a house. I shall be a laughing stock.”
“You had a perfectly servicable house of wood. I dinnae ken why you needed to rebuild.”
“My laird. All the best men have their houses made of stone.”
“Your vanity is not my concern. I have to look after an entire clan and that is not going to be easy with a quarter of the funds I should have. Go to your task with haste and remember your laird’s head is on the line as is your own.”
“Aye, my laird.”
Robin got up and left, scurrying out as if expecting a sword stroke to follow him.
Once he was alone, Jock crossed to the window and looked out at the courtyard once more. The castle was alive with people, all of them busy in their work.
How would they feel if they found out he had lost all they had worked so hard for?
It would be a tough winter without money to buy food. How much grain would the harvest bring? Would there be enough to last them until spring? Would he even be around to see the new year? Or would he be one more skull lining the bridge at Edinburgh?
He wanted to blame Robin and it would have been easy to do so but it was not the financier’s clan, it was his. Ultimately the responsibility fell on him with all the weight of the clan’s past to add a few extra tons.
He expected the anger to return but it had gone. In its place a face swam before his eyes. Her face. Who was that girl?
He had forgotten about the box she had brought. He was too busy thinking about how she’d looked in those strange clothes. And just how appealing she might look out of them.
For the first time he found himself wondering if maybe he would not die alone after all. Had he met the woman for him? His father had told him it would happen in an instant when it did. Was this it?
If he could just find out who she was, and also retrieve the money, and save the clan. Maybe then he could find the time to get to know Daisy Stone a little better.
Would he ever see her again though? If she was an assassin she might be nearby waiting for the right time to attack.
Yet, he felt certain she was far, far away. Something told him she was not just gone from the keep. She was gone from the castle, gone much further and swifter than any person could travel on foot. How could that be?
Superstition, he told himself. He was imagining things because he was angry. She must be nearby. Where else could she be?
Chapter Three
On Monday morning Daisy made a second trip to MacGregor Castle.
She’d come home from that first strange journey almost able to believe she’d dreamed the entire thing. If it wasn’t for the mileage on her car, she could have convinced herself she hadn’t been to the world’s most surreal castle occupied by the world’s strangest laird.
“How was it?” Tabby asked from her pit of blankets on the couch when Daisy walked back in. “Did you deliver it?”
“Oh yes, I delivered it all right.” She put her bag down on the side.
“Good, good. Got his signature on the form?”
Daisy cringed. His signature. The form she’d taken with her that he was supposed to sign to confirm he’d received the parcel. She’d been so flustered by his behavior it completely slipped her mind. “I forgot,” she admitted.
“You forgot! If you don’t get his signature, we don’t get paid.”
“I’m sorry, all right. I don’t know what you want me to say.”
“You know exactly what I’m going to say.”
Daisy shook her head. “No I don’t.”
“You’re going to have to go back up and get him to sign for it.”
“You’re kidding? I traveled hours and used up half a tank of gas. I’m not going back just to get his signature.”
“Please,” Tabby said, sitting up and straining with the effort. “Otherwise I don’t get paid and neither do you. I need more tissues and hot lemon drinks.”
Daisy’s shoulders sagged. If Tabby didn’t get paid neither did she. If neither of them got paid, the rent didn’t get paid. If the rent didn’t get paid, she was in trouble.
It wasn’t just that of course. Daisy’s dream would move a little bit further away. She had been squirrelling money for some time into her savings account and if she had to use it to cover the rent she’d be back at square one. Her plan to one day buy a commercial building would get further away.
She knew the truth, really. That the chance of her ever having enough to buy a place and open her own historical bakery was pretty slim. There wasn’t much of a market for people wanting gingerbread recipes that had last been made in the thirteenth century.
Her real dream was to be in the thirteenth century, cooking such things for real. That was impossible of course, so she settled for wanting the next best thing, a medieval style bakery.
Was there any harm in dreaming? Whenever she was feeling down she could make herself feel better by imagining picking up a winning lottery ticket. She wasn’t greedy, it wouldn’t have to be millions.
Just enough to buy a shop and empty it out, clean it up so her little bakery would go from dream to reali
ty.
She even had a name planned. Out of Date Gingerbread. It was why she kept a tiny piece of dried ginger in her pocket, like a lucky charm. She would use it in the first batch she used when she opened.
She’d indulged herself in a new dream on the way back home from delivering the package to Jock MacGregor. He would feel so guilty for being rude to her that he would offer to buy a place for her.
It was a nice dream, if more than a little unrealistic.
At least thinking about him buying her a bakery stopped her thinking about him in other ways, ways that made her wind the window down to cool off as she drove home after meeting him for the first time.
“Earth to Daisy,” Tabby said, bringing her out of her reverie.
“I’m not going back up there, he was really rude to me,” she said, realizing she’d been silent for some time while Tabby looked expectantly up at her.
“Who? The custodian?”
“No, not the custodian. Jock flaming MacGregor.”
“You mean you actually met him? What’s he like?”
“Rude, snappy,” she said before sighing loudly. “And drop dead gorgeous.”
“You like him,” Tabby replied in a teasing voice. “Don’t you?”
“No, I do not like him.”
“Yes, you do. I can tell by your voice. You want him, you love him. He’s your handsome highland laird ready to sweep you up on his horse and ride off into the sunset with you and a pair of bagpipes for company.”
Daisy felt her cheeks turning crimson. “He looked okay, all right. But he was rude to me and I’m not going back up there.”
“Please, Daisy. You don’t have to do it today. I’ll say he wasn’t in to take it. The last day for him to sign is Monday. I’ll lose the bonus for a late delivery but that’s better than losing a whole week’s pay.”
“You might be well enough to take it up there yourself by then.”
“Maybe.”
She wasn’t well enough. By Monday, she seemed no better at all.
Daisy had spent the weekend trying not to think about Jock MacGregor, especially not the way his muscles had rippled across his chest, the way his deep gravelly voice made her go all wobbly inside, the way his eyes pierced deep inside her and made her want to grovel at his feet like she was the lowliest member of his clan.
She thought about how it would have been in the Middle Ages to have met the laird of a clan. Would she even have been allowed that close to him as an outsider? Would she have been expected to curtsey or did that come in later centuries? That was something else to look up.
She spent much of the weekend out in the sun, doing her best to darken her porcelain pale skin. She almost managed to forget him, how hot he’d looked, the way he’d stared hungrily at her like a wolf might look at a lamb that’s escaped from the flock, like he might swallow her up whole without breaking a sweat.
On both Saturday and Sunday night, under the influence of too much wine, she found herself talking to Tabby about him.
Tabby consulted her tarot cards on Sunday night after two bottles of wine were empty and Daisy told her, “It was like he could see through my clothes. I’ve never known anyone like that. Like I was naked in front of him. It was so strange, do you know what I mean?”
“Sit there,” Tabby said, hauling herself into an upright position, pushing the wine glasses to one side on the coffee table. “Time to see what the cards say.”
She had a specific love tarot set and she shuffled them for a minute while Daisy drained the last of the Merlot from her glass.
“Pick three,” Tabby said, fanning the pack out in front of her. “Lay them face down.”
Daisy did as she was told, looking at the three she’d chosen lined up on the coffee table. Was there any truth to tarot? She had no idea but she knew Tabby believed in it as fervently as she did in dreamcatchers, crystal skulls, time travel, and daily horoscopes.
Tabby flipped over the first card. “The coachman.”
“What does that mean?” Daisy asked, looking at the image closely, a man whipping his horses as they rode frantically down a green hillside. “Let me guess, it means I’m going back to his castle.”
“It normally means you’re going on a journey but the second card should clarify what type.” She turned over the middle card of the three. “The clock. That’s unusual.”
“Why? What does that mean?”
“Usually it means time is running out or the passage of time but I’ve never seen that card together with the coachman. Together they mean time going backward and then a journey but that doesn’t mean anything, does it?”
“Maybe I’m about to become a time traveler.” She laughed but Tabby’s face remained set.
“You shouldn’t joke about such things. These are serious forces we’re dealing with.”
“Come on, Tabby. I’m not about to be whisked into the past just because a card says so.”
“Let’s see what the third card holds, then we’ll talk about it.”
She flipped it over. “The castle. That’s really odd. That’s not part of the love tarot set.” She shrugged. “I guess this one got mixed in from the others.” She picked up the cards and piled them neatly together before pouring out more wine. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were about to go back in time to a castle. Maybe MacGregor Castle?”
Daisy laughed but Tabby didn’t and for a moment there was an awkwardness in the air.
“I,” Daisy said, breaking the spell, “am going for a pee.”
They didn’t talk about the cards anymore that night though Daisy found herself thinking about them later, just before she fell asleep.
What if she did go back in time? It would be the perfect research for her historical bakery. Imagine living in the castle and baking the medieval way with Jock by her side.
It was a nice dream with only one problem.
Jock MacGregor acted like he lived in the past but he lived in the present.
Or so she thought.
She slept fitfully and when she dreamed she dreamed of Jock.
Monday morning she showered and then stood in her room, trying to choose what to wear. In the end she settled for pretty much the same thing she’d worn last time, despite Tabby’s shouted through advice that she dress to impress him.
“What’s the point,” she called back. “I’m never going to be seeing him again after today. One signature and I’m out of there.”
“You never know. You might end up married to a laird. Lady MacGregor, that could be you.”
“I very much doubt it.”
She headed downstairs once she was dressed, finding Tabby looking much the same as she’d done all weekend. “Are you ever going to get better?” Daisy asked.
“Are you ever going to listen to my fashion advice?”
“Maybe. I’ll see you in a few hours.”
“And several pounds richer. Maybe with an engagement ring on your finger?”
“Stop it. I’ll just get the custodian to sign for him and then I’ll be back.”
“Nuh uh, he took the box, he has to sign. That’s the way it works.”
“Really?”
Was she glad Tabby had told her that?
Of course not.
So why had her heart just skipped a beat?
She headed north for the second time in a week. The journey was as pretty as the first time and went by quicker now she knew which way she was going. She even managed to slow down in time to enter the parking lot when she got to the castle.
She took the form with her across to the gatehouse, ringing the bell and feeling strangely as if she someone was watching her. She looked up but there was no one visible at any of the arrow slit windows.
For a brief second she could have sworn she saw a head at the very top of the battlements but then a crow rose up and flew off and she realized she’d been mistaken.
The door creaked open and there was the ancient custodian once again. “Och, ye’re back,” he said,
rubbing his hands together excitedly.
“I need the Laird’s signature for his package.”
“Ye mean you actually saw Jock MacGregor? In the flesh?”
“He was in his room just like you said.”
“So the door was unlocked, was it? The one up top of the stairs, I mean?”
“Yes, why, wasn’t it supposed to be?”
The man began to choke and it took Daisy several seconds of panic to realize he wasn’t choking, he was laughing, a wheezing dry laugh that bent him double. When he stood up again, there was a hint of color to his cheeks for the first time. “Well, up ye go then, go get your signature.”
“Why are you laughing at me?”
“No reason.” Then he was gone and Daisy was alone once more.
She walked through the gatehouse and into the courtyard, passing straight up the steps, ignoring the heavy feeling in her legs. She went through the door that led into the keep.
There was no sound of swords clashing this time but she felt once again that strange sense of unease as she approached the laird’s bedroom. Wind gusted past her as she stopped and knocked on the door. Then she waited, trying to keep her hands from shaking.
She didn’t manage it so instead she held them behind her back, pen and form ready.
She waited but nothing happened. She was about to knock for a second time when an enormous gust of wind blew up from nowhere and at the same moment, the door creaked open.
Jock MacGregor was looking right at her, somehow taller and more handsome than last time, his face lit by flaming torches on the interior wall. Just how old fashioned was he?
“You again,” he said, his voice deeper than she remembered. Why was he looking so angry with her. “You’ve only been gone a couple of hours and now you’re back despite me doubling the guard. Well, get on with it. See if you can kill me.”
She opened her mouth and tried to speak but nothing came out. He was wearing the same outfit as last time and her knees felt weak. She coughed too loudly and then squeaked, “I need you to sign this.”
Something was bothering her at the back of her mind but she couldn’t put her finger on it.
The Key to Her Heart: A Highlander Time Travel Romance Page 3
