by Emma Prince
What was more, a faint trace of his scent—soap and smoke and clean male skin—lingered in the chamber. It instantly reminded her of his nearness, of sitting atop a horse in his lap, being wrapped in his plaid.
Belatedly, she realized that Tilly was already bustling back down the spiral stairs. Caroline hastily closed Callum’s chamber door and followed the cook, her skin tingling and her cheeks warm with embarrassment over how silly she was being. But when they reached the great hall once more, curiosity got the better of her.
“Where is Callum?” she asked, scanning the hall once more. The meal was already being cleared and those who’d been eating had begun filtering away toward their tasks for the day.
“The Laird is in the yard training with some of the men,” Tilly replied. “Come. I’ll show ye what’s outside the keep.”
Caroline followed Tilly out the double doors and nodded along as she was shown the castle’s well, the stables, a weapons shed for the castle guards, and a small attached smithy for repairs. But when they stepped around the backside of the keep, her thoughts and attention scattered.
Morning sun glinted off Callum’s sweat-sheened bare chest. He stood before a group of a dozen men, some of whom had discarded their tunics as well, yet Caroline couldn’t seem to rip her eyes away from Callum. Both of his big hands were closed around a sword. He was walking through a sequence of slow-motion maneuvers which ended in a firm thrust of the blade.
“Again,” he said to his men, and they instantly shifted into formation, raising their own swords and moving through the same series of blocks and strikes.
Just then, he turned and his gaze locked on her. In the sunlight, his hair was the rich, dark color of coffee and his eyes sparked like gold. He strode toward her, his sword casually swinging in one hand by his side.
Caroline couldn’t help it. She stared.
She’d never seen anyone so good looking in person before—only in movies and on television. Every stacked, sweat-slicked muscle on his torso looked like it had been carved from stone. His broad, corded shoulders and chest tapered to a lean, chiseled waist. His tight-fitted pants—trews, she thought they were called—clung and outlined his powerful legs.
She’d felt his strength when she’d ridden in front of him, her shoulder brushing into the hard wall of his torso, but she hadn’t realized just how…perfect he was.
When he halted before her, she knew from the masculine grin tugging at his lips that he’d noticed her ogling him. Another unwanted blush rose to her face.
“Are ye getting a tour of Kinmuir, then?”
“Yes,” she croaked, then cleared her throat. “Tilly has been kind enough to take time away from her work to show me around.”
Callum’s brows lowered and he shifted his amber gaze to Tilly. “Eagan ought to have done that.”
“Aye, well,” Tilly said with a frown and a wave of her hand. “It seemed the seneschal couldnae be bothered this morn. It is no trouble, though, Laird. All that remains for Mistress Caroline to see are the gardens.”
Caroline finally managed to tear her eyes from Callum. “Gardens?”
She felt his perceptive gaze on her and got the sense that her sudden interest hadn’t gone unnoticed.
“I willnae keep ye, then,” he said, turning back to his men. “And remember, Caroline, ye promised to stay inside the castle walls, but ye have free rein within them.”
Willing herself not to gawk at Callum’s retreating back, Caroline followed Tilly away from the training men.
The two-towered keep sat against the enclosing stone wall on its back side, so there was no way to make a complete circle behind it. Instead they walked in an arc around it, past the doors to the great hall and the closed castle gates in the outer wall opposite the keep.
They came upon a lower stone wall that stood just below head-height for Caroline. It closed off a portion of the space between the keep and the outer wall. Tilly swung open a wooden gate set into the stones and motioned her in.
Caroline blinked at the wild, overgrown garden inside. She would never have guessed that behind all that cold gray stone sat a verdant patch of chaos. Besides one tidy raised bed just inside the wooden gate, the rest looked to have been abandoned.
Fruit trees lined the back of the space, brushing the outer wall and the corner of the keep. Several more raised beds spread out along the ground, all untended and weed-choked. And a wild-looking climbing rose bush had nearly consumed a few trellises propped up against the side of the keep.
Despite the chaotic riot of growth, Caroline was instantly struck by the peacefulness of the place.
“It isnae much at the moment, but I make do,” Tilly commented, drawing Caroline out of her silent wonderment.
“What do you mean?”
Tilly huffed a frustrated breath, planting her hands on her hips and eyeing the garden as if it were her foe.
“I ought to have cleared it this spring, but my knees dinnae like bending so much anymore, ye ken. I can keep up this one bed for the kitchen’s use, but the rest got away from me.”
Caroline nodded thoughtfully. “Would you mind if I helped you get things tidied up in here?”
“Mind?” Tilly squawked. “Gracious, nay, mistress, I’d be most grateful!” Tilly beamed, but then her smile faltered ever so slightly. “Ye ken about plants and such?”
Caroline grinned. Finally she’d found something that made sense to her in both the twenty-first and fourteenth centuries. “Yes, I know a bit about plants, and I would love to have something to do around here until—”
Callum’s warning against speaking about how she’d fallen through time and was trying to go back flickered across her mind. Yes, it was wise not to go blabbing about time-travel to people who burned witches, but Tilly seemed like the most knowledgeable person in the castle aside from Callum. If there was anyone who could tell her anything else about Leannan Falls or what might have happened to her, it was Tilly.
The cook was waiting expectantly for Caroline to finish her thought.
“…Until I return to my own land,” she said. “I’m sure you’ve noticed that I’m not from Scotland—or England, for that matter.”
“I suppose that’s none of my business,” Tilly replied matter-of-factly. “The way I see it, ye are a guest of my Laird, and that’s all I need ken.”
“Yes, well,” Caroline continued, awkwardly searching for the right words. “When I was…on my way to the Highlands, I passed a place called Leannan Falls. Have you heard of it?”
Tilly’s red brows rose slightly. “Och, mayhap, that does sound a wee bit familiar.”
“It seemed a very…strange place to me,” Caroline plowed on. “Someone nearby told me that the waters were purported to have healing abilities.”
“Hmm.” Tilly pursed her lips. “I cannae say that I’ve heard aught about healing waters, but I do remember a legend about that waterfall. Something about a doomed love between a faerie and a man—Leannan means sweetheart, ye ken.”
With a wave of her hand, Tilly seemed to brush away her words. “Then again, nigh every falls or mountain or stream in Scotland has a tale to go along with it. Ye ken how the biddies can be with their stories of curses and spells and the like.” She paused, fixing Caroline with curious hazel eyes. “Would ye like me to ask the old wives in the village about the falls, mistress?”
Caroline swallowed hard against the pounding of her heart in her throat. Learning more about Leannan Falls might give her some clues about what had happened—or how to get back. But the last thing she needed was an entire village gossiping about the English-speaking loon who might be connected with black magic.
“No,” she said reluctantly at last. “That won’t be necessary.”
Tilly bobbed her head in approval. “That is probably for the best, mistress. Most of those wee battle-axes havenae ever left MacMoran land, so aught they ken will likely just be a mix of rumor and fancy. Besides, we may be isolated and a wee bit superstitious here in the Highla
nds, but we are still God-fearing folk. It wouldnae be proper to give such tales undue credence.”
Caroline could only manage a weak nod. No matter what the villagers around here believed, whatever had happened to her lay beyond comprehension. Maybe some part of Scottish lore was true after all.
Ultimately, it didn’t matter one way or the other. All that mattered was that she get back to the falls and find a way home.
Chapter Nine
Callum slipped out the keep’s double doors and strode toward the walled garden.
He hadn’t seen Caroline yet this morn, but based on the way her eyes had lit up yesterday on her tour of the castle grounds, he had a strong suspicion that he’d find her in the garden.
Tilly had informed him that Caroline had spent much of yesterday gathering tools in preparation for her attack on the overgrown greenery. She’d only come inside for the evening meal, and had been so exhausted that she’d retired immediately to her chamber.
But this morn she was apparently full of energy again, for he’d come down to the great hall to break his fast, only to be told by Eagan that Caroline and Tilly were already outside.
When he reached the stone wall enclosing the garden, he found the wooden gate angled open. Tilly’s matter-of-fact voice drifted through it.
“…Fennel over there, and cabbages and carrots next to the lettuces,” Tilly was saying.
Callum sauntered through the gate to find the two women’s backs to him. Tilly had a wooden spoon in her hand, as she often did, and was pointing at the raised bed at their feet.
“On that end are the peas, beans, and a few radishes and parsnips, though they’ve gotten a wee bit mixed up in the middle.” She shifted her spoon to point at the next bed over. “And somewhere under all these blasted weeds are the turnips, onions, garlic, and leeks.”
“I can clear those easily enough,” Caroline replied, planting her hands on her slim waist. She wore a simple brown gown and had plaited her hair so that it hung in a dark, glossy rope down her back.
When she’d come upon him training with his men yesterday, his blood had surged hotter than if he’d been in the midst of battle at the look of surprise followed by hunger in her pale eyes. Though he longed to feel the heat of her gaze upon him once more, he was content to observe silently for the time being.
“Aye, I’d be most grateful,” Tilly said. “As will all those who eat my cooking—I fear it has become a wee bit bland of late.”
“What’s in those beds over there?”
Caroline and Tilly ambled farther into the garden, and Callum took the opportunity to lean back against the inside of the stone wall, letting the sun warm his face. He crossed his arms over his chest, his gaze lingering on the delicate sway of Caroline’s hips.
She was all gentle curves and coltish energy this morn. The taut fear she’d exhibited her first few days at Kinmuir had been replaced with an air of relaxed confidence, a comfort in her own skin that he found enthralling.
“The village healer uses these from time to time,” Tilly said, using her spoon to wave at two overgrown beds. “I would wager she wouldnae mind if ye cleared them out a bit for her, but mind what’s a weed and what isnae.” The spoon became an extension of her pointer finger once more. “Dinnae disturb the rosemary, chamomile, St. John’s wort, mint, lavender, and the yarrow, else she’ll give ye an earful.”
“Isn’t that foxglove?” Caroline nodded toward a clump of tall stalks with downward tipping pink bell-shaped flowers.
“Och, aye, I forgot. Dinnae clear those either.”
“But those are poisonous,” Caroline said sharply.
Tilly bobbed her head. “Aye, indeed—in large quantities. But with the right dose, it can calm an erratic pulse and slow a racing heart.”
“Medicine or poison, depending on the application,” Caroline murmured. “Like just about everything. What about those fruit trees back there?” She lifted her chin toward the back of the gardens, which were cast in deeper shade thanks to the outer wall and the intertwining tree branches.
“Och, ye neednae bother with those, unless ye wish to clean up some of the overgrowth beneath them. Margaret or one of the other lasses from the kitchen see to picking the fruit—apples, pears, and plums.” Tilly pointed to each type of tree in the orchard in turn with her spoon.
Caroline strolled down one of the packed-dirt paths between the raised beds and stepped into the dappled shade beneath the trees. “Lovely,” she murmured, reaching for a golden speckled pear and brushing it with her fingers.
Callum watched her so intently that Tilly and the rest of the garden seemed to fall away. Mottled sunlight played across her chestnut hair and creamy skin. A faint, happy smile touched her lips as she swept her gaze over the other fruit trees.
What a puzzle she was. When she spoke of falling through time, of appearing out of nowhere at Loch Darraig, of being from the future, Callum was sure she couldn’t be in her right mind. But the rest of the time, she seemed perfectly sane.
Perfect.
He silently chastised himself for the foolish word, but as he continued to stare at her, naught else would come to his mind. She was bold and blunt, clever and determined. Yet when she spoke of needing to find her sisters, she revealed a vulnerability that made some deeply male part of him want to protect her from hurt and pain.
And damn it all if her beauty wasn’t making him daft. Never before had he beheld such striking features as hers. Those piercing blue eyes could cut through stone, yet the soft curve of her lips were made for kissing.
Bloody hell. Callum gave himself an internal shake. What the hell was getting into him?
Caroline Sutton, it seemed.
Even with all her strangeness, she had a way of wheedling into his thoughts at all hours, heating his blood and making a muddle of right and wrong, real and false.
“Ah, Laird! What are ye doing here?” At Tilly’s exclamation, the spell that had closed in around Callum shattered.
Caroline turned, her eyes locking on him, and his stomach did an odd flip. To cover his sudden discomfiture at being caught staring, he pushed off the wall and uncrossed his arms, casually sauntering around the raised beds.
“I thought I’d have a peek at what could keep ye from the kitchens for so long, Tilly.”
“Och, I’ve left far too much to Margaret,” Tilly huffed, hurrying past him.
“Nay, yer daughter has things under control,” he replied, hoping he hadn’t insulted the cook. “Ye’ve trained her well.”
“All the same, I’d best get back. Ye can manage out here for the time being, mistress?”
“Yes, of course,” Caroline said with a shy smile. “I’m glad to help.”
Tilly hustled through the garden gate and to the small side door leading to the back of the kitchens, which gave the cook easy access to her ingredients.
When the door closed behind her, Callum’s guts did another wee dance. Once again, he was alone with Caroline.
He cleared his throat. “I’m glad ye’ve found something to occupy yer time here.”
She ducked her head and shrugged. Moving to one of the most unruly beds, she sank down onto her haunches and picked up a trowel, setting to work clearing out the weeds.
“I studied this stuff, you know—plants, I mean. But I think I made the mistake of trying to turn something I love into my job.”
Callum frowned. Several portions of what she’d just said didn’t make sense to him. She dipped in and out of that sort of perplexing talk with such ease that it almost seemed normal.
For a fleeting moment, he considered the possibility that she truly had come from the future. Plenty of people still believed in the old magic. Was it so far-fetched to imagine that some spell or curse had brought her here?
It was a strange thought for a man who valued logic and level-headedness, who put far less credence in words and ideas than he did in actions. A man was only as good as his deeds, after all.
Once again, Caroline was mak
ing a muddle of his normally orderly thoughts. Still, no matter how much he challenged the lass, she maintained her insistence that this tale about falling through time was true. Mayhap instead of fighting her, he ought to listen to her more to see if he could make sense of what she meant.
He moved to her side and lowered himself into a crouch, eyeing the assorted spades, rakes, and hoes lying on the ground. When he selected a trowel like hers and began digging out the weeds as she was, he felt her cast him a curious, sidelong glance.
“First of all, what do ye mean, ye studied plants?”
Now he was gifted with her full, piercing stare. She hesitated for a moment, but then with a faint smile, she resumed her work on the bed.
“In my time, women can go to universities just like men. I studied botany for a little while, but it was…let’s just say I didn’t like all the math and chemistry. So I switched to sustainable agriculture—how to grow crops so that the land stays healthy.”
He chewed on that for a moment, deciding to accept what she’d said without comment.
“And what do ye mean by turning what ye love into a job?”
Her brows creased as she considered how to answer. “You’re the Laird of the MacMorans, which means it’s your job to take care of your people—give them protection, help them if they fall on hard times—and in return they work the land and give you part of their harvest, right?
“Aye, close enough.”
“Well, in my time, I don’t have a Laird, so I have to work to earn money to pay for things like where I live and food and stuff like that. I thought I could do that by studying plants, but doing so ended up taking away the joy I got from it, if that makes sense. I like being outdoors. I like making things grow. And I like getting my hands dirty.”
To demonstrate her words, she held up one of her soil-covered hands and shot him a grin. “But it turns out I don’t like doing it for money.”
