Like Beathag, Iain thought, but did not say. She had not been willing to marry him in the first place, had only acquiesced because her father threatened her with dire consequences. In the end, she'd run off anyway.
"I ha'e already spoken wi' your màthair about this, and though she isnae happy about it, I ha'e made up my mind that this is the last recourse left me. I alone am the one who can straighten out this matter, so," he took a deep breath before he continued, "I myself must go to London and speak wi' King Jamie."
"Nay." Iain gasped.
"Aye," Alistair persisted, "'tis the only way, Iain. All the arrangements ha'e been made. As soon as I see the clan safely settled, I will go to meet wi' Archibald Campbell." He held up his hand to stop Iain's expected outburst at that news. "I ha'e his word as a Highlander that he will see me delivered safely to England."
"And ye trust him?"
Alistair's laugh held no mirth, "nay, of course no', nay truly. But I do ha'e his oath. And a Highlander, e'en one such as Archibald prides himself on his sworn oath. There arenae many I know who would break their word. No matter how tempted."
"I dinnae like it." Iain shook his head, "I think it is a mistake."
"Whether it is or no' remains to be seen."
"Ye willnae be saying that when ye wind up dead, father."
"I doonae think e'en Argyle will go that far. That is neither here nor there at the moment. I wish to exact your word that ye will nay only care for the clan in my absence, but ye will care for your màthair and your sister as well. If anything should happen to me, until one of your elder brother's returns, ye shall be laird."
Iain wanted to protest further, but couldn't.
He'd been right not to trust the Earl of Argyle. Archibald Campbell had indeed held to his oath to see his father delivered to England, along with the eleven other clansmen who'd gone with him to represent the MacGregors. Once across the border, however, Argyle had arrested Alistair and brought him back to Edinburgh where they held a sham of a trial before hanging his father and the other men with him.
"Iain, are ye listening to me?"
Iain looked up to find Sorcha watching him, a tight-lipped look on her face. He knew that look well, for hadn't he grown up with it? She wore it whenever something displeased her.
"Aye, màthair." He pulled his drifting thoughts back to the conversation.
"Ye should attack the Campbell's; beat them at their own game. Ride to their keep and take your sister back by force if necessary."
A sudden thought occurred to Iain that had never occurred to him before. "Why is it ye are so certain 'twas the Campbell's that took Caitlyn and no' just her running off again?"
Sorcha turned her face away.
"Mathair?"
With a sigh, Sorcha looked at him again, but would not meet his eyes. "'Tis a long tale, Iain, but suffice it to say that a woman scorned has nothing on a Campbell laird scorned."
"Do ye mean…"
"I dinnae wish to discuss it any further than that, Iain." Her tone clipped, Sorcha rose from her chair and stood by the fire, "I just would no' put it past Archibald Campbell to take your sister as some kind of twisted revenge. Attacking him and taking your sister back is nay more than he deserves."
Iain gave up, realizing he would get no more of the tale from her. "Ye know 'tis nay that simple." He chided. "'Twould be suicide to do the like, and well ye know that." He growled. "We would need to lay siege to their keep and we dinnae ha'e the manpower to do that. And, might I remind ye that we are considered outlaws? I will nay risk the lives of my men on a fool's errand. I may nay have been the best choice for laird, but wi' my brothers gone and da…" He trailed off at the pained expression on his màthair's face. "I'm sorry."
"'Tis nay your fault, Iain." She waved his apology aside. "I had a good life with your father, and am not sorry about one moment of it. I would never have wished it to end the way it did, but 'twas a full, rich life I had with him. And longer than either of us hoped for. He was three score and ten and we'd been together for more than half of those years. He would be disappointed in me if I mourned him longer than necessary after such a blessing of life together." She narrowed her eyes at him, "and I know what you are thinking. As far as ye nay being the best choice for laird, you are wrong there too."
"I dinnae think I was fully prepared for this." He shook his head, not believing he was discussing this with her.
"Ye trained alongside your brothers."
"Aye, but I dinnae feel it was enough." He wasn't sure he could make her understand he didn't think he was ready for the responsibility thrust on him. He was the youngest son and had never been pushed to learn all the things necessary to be laird. There were two others before him, after all. He shrugged those thoughts aside. He would do what he must and hope it would be for the best. He wasn't incompetent nor was he stupid. He could and he would learn whatever he needed to in order to protect his family, his clan and his honor.
"If I find evidence that the Campbell's were involved wi' Caitlyn's disappearance, I will do what must be done." He changed the subject, not wishing to discuss the matter further. "There isnae any more I can do until then." He rose from his chair. "I still find it odd that we ha'e heard nothing and the Campbell's ha'e n' contacted me. They should be shouting the news loud and long from the highest mountains in Scotland, yet I ha'e heard naught, nay, e'en a whispered suspicion or rumor. 'Tis puzzling and thus stays my hand from any vengeance. Ye know I can do nay more except wait and continue to search for her. We were severely depleted of fighting men due to wounds and death during the last few months. We may ha'e only lost two at Glenfruin, but the recent losses and penalty we pay for that battle has more than made up for it. I cannae risk any more lives wi' nothing but suspicion to go on."
Sorcha held up a hand. "I know, Iain. I speak from a màthair's love, but I understand all you say and why ye can do nothing yet."
"Good," he turned at the door. "I will see ye at dinner."
"Ye know I will nay dine in the hall until my daughter is returned to me." Sorcha shook her head. "'Tis too sad for me yet."
"Verra well." Iain sighed but nodded. His màthair could be quite stubborn when she wanted to. He turned and strode out the door. Why had he ever thought his màthair would mellow with age? Instead, she had only gotten worse. Not that he could blame her. The Greathall, which had always been filled with laughter, music, joyful conversation and teasing, had become maudlin. Everyone was quiet and any conversation took place in near whispers.
Iain put a hand to his aching head. Sometimes he wished he could leave, go somewhere far away. He'd always planned to travel. Raibert would prove an able laird to the few clan members left. Moreover, Iain could be certain his màthair would be well looked after. Perhaps when they found Caitlyn, he could think about it more. Return either to London or mayhap the new land across the ocean.
He shook his head at the foolishness of his thoughts. He'd never been one to shirk his responsibilities and he wouldn't start now. He headed straight out the wide double doors and to the training field. He would vent his frustrations in a little combat.
"Weel?" Elsbeth emerged from the bedchamber as soon as Iain left. "Is she the one we hoped for?"
"I do not know yet. Perhaps after I speak to her I will know better."
Elsbeth nodded but kept her thoughts to herself and said no more.
Chapter Five
Kristianna paced the large room, her agitation growing with each step. Though the evidence before her was overwhelming, she was unwilling to accept it. Her thoughts raced with the numerous possibilities. Maybe she'd sleepwalked, hit her head and this was the result of a dream induced by a coma. Maybe she was delirious from a lack of chocolate. She could be hallucinating or in the middle of a nightmare she couldn't seem to wake up from due to a concussion or maybe a high fever.
She closed her eyes and willed her pounding heart to calm down and quit beating so fast. This was just a dream. It had to be. It was not happening. No
body could travel through time, could they?
Maybe she was in the midst of an emotional breakdown. Perhaps she was going through some kind of stress related mental collapse. Who could blame her after what she'd had to do just to get to Scotland. All the chaos and strain, along with the junk food, or lack thereof, not to mention a serious lack of sleep, had finally gotten to her.
Aleksa and Hailey both had warned her that if she didn't slow down and start taking better care of herself she would have a nervous breakdown. So now, here it was, happening at last, just as they'd predicted. She closed her eyes again and took a deep, calming breath.
When I open my eyes, everything will be back the way it's supposed to be. The room will be the same as when I went to bed last night. If I wanted to, I could leave the castle, hop on a plane, and be back in the states by tomorrow.
With deliberate slowness, she opened one eye a tiny bit, then a little further when she couldn't quite see enough of the room to make any distinction.
With a long-suffering sigh, she opened both eyes and blew her bangs out of her eyes. The room looked the same. Not a thing had changed from five minutes ago.
Kris paced the room again. Panic like she'd never known before welled in her throat. She tried to breathe, but it came out in quick, shallow gasps as one small breath slammed into the next. She couldn't catch her breath. Her heart beat so fast, she was certain it would pound from her chest at any moment.
Breathe! Oh my God! I'm gonna die! In this strange place, alone, away from my family, my friends, my life, I'm gonna die!
No! Her heart screamed. She had to calm down. She could handle this. She cupped both hands over her nose and mouth in lieu of a paper bag, and forced herself to take long, slow, deliberate breaths.
In through the nose, one, two, three, out through the mouth, one, two, three. After several minutes of this, she got her breathing back under semi-control. There was a reasonable explanation for this, there had to be. People were not just whisked through time and thrown into another century. It just didn't happen. Not in real life, at any rate. In movies, or books, quite often, but never in reality.
Kris sat down at the small table and drummed her fingers, whirling the possibilities around. She had to remain calm, put her emotions in her back pocket because they were useless to her right now. She must force herself to use her logic to think this through or she'd never find her way out of this mess. She discarded anything that suggested this was a dream. She'd never had a dream be so sensory vivid before. If you didn't like what was happening in a dream, just wait and it would change to some other demented thing that you knew could not possibly happen.
Her mind settled on the last possible option, this had to be some elaborate scheme cooked up by Mr. MacGregor. It was the only legitimate explanation she could latch onto. Without a doubt, he'd done a good job of finding actors. The guy playing Iain sure looked an awful lot like the real thing. She studiously ignored the small voice that tried to convince her otherwise.
Well, she decided with a huff, she did not find this charade amusing in the least. She'd have something to say to that old man when she found him. Then she'd be on the next plane home and the hell with the rest of her class trip. She was a serious student. She had no time for foolish games played on unsuspecting visitors.
First things first, however. She would need to get dressed before she could find the old goat. She needed to end this now. She had a life to get on with. She again ignored the tiny voice that told her she deluded herself.
She started to rise from the table when she noticed a chest below the window where the dresser had been yesterday. All of her clothes were in that bureau. She glanced about the room but saw no sign of it. She folded her arms across her chest in a stance of protection and sat back down, hard.
Her gaze wandered about the room, just now noticing the glaring differences. Not only was the chest of drawers missing, but also, where there had been a lovely thick, wall-to-wall carpet on the floor, now rugs lay strewn about, but they did not look modern at all, they looked hand-made, and there was no longer another door in the room that led to the adjoining bath.
Or was there?
Kris stood and hurried over to the tapestry that covered the spot where the door had been. She pulled it aside and stared. No door, nothing but an empty wall. Had she been moved during the night? Had she been drugged? She shook her head. She didn't believe Mr. MacGregor would go to such lengths as that. He wasn't a cruel man, of that she was sure.
Kris moved to the bed and sat down, noting the lumpy mattress. Definitely not the comfortable Serta bed she'd gone to sleep on last night. Her heart began to hammer in her chest for a second time. Her stomach clenched into a tight knot as panic began to rise once more.
With firm control, she clamped down with decisive resolve on her emotions. They would not help her get home. She needed to stay calm and composed. Something was up and she would damn well find out what before another hour passed.
She stood and fisted her hands on her hips. Now, if she could just find her clothes. She glanced down at her bare legs, contemplating just heading out anyway. No, she would need to find some clothes. She couldn't very well walk around all day in her Patriots nightshirt. It barely covered her rear end, not to mention it had seen cleaner days. If she hadn't known better, she would swear she'd rolled around in the mud with it on. She must have been in shock to have slept in this thing in the condition it was in.
She grunted in disgust, more than ready for this charade to be over with. It was time to take back control of her life, starting with finding her clothes.
She decided they could be in one of two places, either in the chest underneath the window or in the wardrobe closet she'd spotted. She'd start with the chest. It was as good a place as any.
Striding over to it, her purpose set, she threw open the lid and tore into it with vigor. It was quite a large chest, and deep as well, reaching almost to her mid-section. Not that she could be considered tall by any standards, barely reaching 5'3" on her best day and that only if she stood very straight.
She gasped when she saw what was in the trunk. At first, she tried to be gentle with what appeared to be very old, but very well preserved linens and blankets. By the time she got halfway through the articles, however, she didn't care about damaging them. She grabbed fistfuls of cloth and tossed them with reckless abandon out of the chest, tossing them behind her onto the floor in desperation.
* * *
Iain heard noises from the room he'd put Kristianna in. What was she doing in there? He knocked twice before he opened it a crack. A glance around the room revealed a mess. Clothing, wool blankets and linens as well as other items littered the floor, the table, and the bed. There was no sign of Kristianna, however.
Iain stepped into the room and heard a few mumbled, incoherent words. He thought he caught a curse or two thrown in there, but couldn't be sure. Where was she?
He let his gaze wander around the room once more and then he caught sight of her. Or at least half of her. Bent at the waist, her top half inside the chest that held the things now thrown negligently about the room, she stood on her tiptoes. Her bottom aloft, he was offered a very intriguing view of that well-formed rear end.
He closed his eyes, convinced he was seeing things. He opened them, closed them again, shook his head for good measure, then opened them a final time.
Aye, 'twas still there.
He raised his eyes heavenward. He didn't need this.
Some sort of yellow material covered her bottom. That was not what made him gape at her in astonishment, however. There was a face on the material, a face that smiled and winked at him. He cleared his throat, but she didn't seem to hear him, so he tried again. It looked like she was stuck.
"What are ye doing, lass?" He asked, not quite able to control a chuckle. His voice shook with mirth, though he struggled manfully not to laugh out loud. It had been a long time since he'd found anything amusing.
Kristianna squeaked in
surprise and tried to turn her head to see who was getting an eyeful of her rear end. She turned too fast, though, and ended up inside the chest on her back, her legs dangling over the edge at the knees.
Iain stared for a moment, willing his mirth under control. He closed the door with a quiet click and rolled his eyes. He did not need a lass around who could make him laugh. Laughter was not part of being laird. Not now, when so much and so many depended on his being strong. Later he could take the time for enjoyment, but now, he shook his head, the pain of losing his father, his missing sister, hearing nary a word from his two elder brothers. Nay, now was not the time for hilarity, although everything in him wanted to burst into laughter.
"Are you just going to stand there gaping at me like an idiot or are you going to show me you're something of a chivalrous gentleman and help me out of this thing?"
"Actually, I was quite enjoying the view." He scarcely stopped himself from grinning at her, something else he hadn't done in quite some time.
"You would." Kristianna blushed from her toes to the roots of her hair. She knew it; she could feel the heat of it sting her cheeks. "Do you suppose you could give me a hand out of this thing, please, instead of ogling me?"
"I ne'er ogle. Stare, aye, look, definitely, but I ne'er ogle."
Kris raised her brow at him and held out her hand. Iain sighed, but reached for her and lifted her out of the chest as if she weighed no more than a child. He held her close, enjoying the feel of her in his arms, the sweet smell of her womanly scent.
Her hair, a wild mass of curls, framed her face and looked very soft. He looked down at her, his eyes resting on her face as she stared back up at him. He had examined her before, but there was nothing like getting a closer look. Once again, he took in all the features of her face, coming to rest on her slightly parted lips as she continued to gaze up at him.
Would her lips taste as sweet as they looked? Would she resist if he kissed her, or would she accept his kiss? Would her desire match that of his own, or would she turn away in disgust as another woman had? His head began to descend without permission.
Timeless Mist Page 5
