by Jo Barrett
She gave what was left of the drink to Elspeth, then turned and threaded the needle. Holding her hands over a basin, she said, “Pour some of the whiskey over my hands, then give it to him, he’ll need it.”
Elspeth did as she was told without a word, then handed Ian the bottle.
Colin observed as the woman clad in dark blue trews gently shook the excess moisture from her hands, then spoke over her shoulder. “Drink up, Prince Charming. This is going to hurt a hell of a lot more than the whiskey.”
Her voice, he noted, was firm and strong. Not the irritating twitter he was used to hearing from females like Maighread, with the exception of when his cousin was stewing over something. But not only was her tone different, the words this woman used were strange. Her speech vaguely similar but not exactly that of a Sassenach. He found himself struggling to understand much of what she said. He grumbled lowly as the puzzle twisted and turned.
Watching her slender fingers as they skillfully worked at Ian’s torn flesh, he remembered those same hands snagging him by the belt and tossing him to the ground. His anger rose with every stitch. Luck had been more than kind to her that afternoon. She could’ve been killed by any one of those men.
Although, he thought while scratching at his scraggly beard, she had been quick and sure.
He dropped his hand to his arm, his scowl deepening. She was still a woman. One he intended to learn more about, like what was she doing on MacLean land dressed as a lad, and what connection did she have with the ambush? What purpose could she have for traveling in disguise?
Several minutes later, she dried her hands on a bit of cloth. “There, the worst is over. You’ll survive.”
Ian, now several shades paler than when he’d first been brought into the room and likely a bit light in the head from drink, grinned. “Thanks to your tender loving care, my dear.”
She sniffed and shook her head. “You’re a real piece of work.”
Lifting her head, she looked at Elspeth, who had watched her with utter fascination.
“We need to keep the wound clean,” Tuck said. “The bandages will need to be changed regularly. Never touch his shoulder without first washing your hands thoroughly with strong soap or whiskey. The last thing we need is for an infection to set in. Assuming there aren’t any antibiotics lying around.”
Elspeth shook her head slowly.
“No, I didn’t think so,” she said with a heavy sigh. “Then I’ve done all I can. Let’s just hope it’s enough.”
“If you are quite finished, woman, I’ll have a word with you,” Colin snarled, growing more irritated by the minute. An-ti-bi-ot-ics? What was she blathering about?
Ian chuckled softly and took hold of her slender fingers. “Ah, so the truth comes to light. Do not be afraid, dear heart, he’s harmless.” He pressed his lips to her hand. “Most of the time,” he added with a broad smile and a wink.
Her mouth opened a fraction then snapped shut as she pulled free of his grasp. “Not much scares me.”
Crossing her arms, she turned and met Colin’s gaze openly. “And the name is Tuck. Not lad, not woman. Tuck. I suggest you use it, or you’ll find yourself becoming better acquainted with the floor.”
Clenching his jaw, he bit back the urge to throttle the shrew. He traversed the room in a breath and towered over her. “I’ll call you whatever I like…woman.” He hated the twitch of pleasure he got from the deep green fire glinting in her eyes. “Tell me what you have tae do with the MacKenzies.”
Her brow furrowed, and he took note of the spark of confusion on her face before she expertly hid her thoughts behind a blank mask.
She dropped her fisted hands by her sides. “I don’t have a clue, nor do I care who the MacKenzies are.”
“They’re the ones who ambushed us, you taupie!”
He ignored Elspeth’s soft gasp, she would know the details soon enough. First, he had to deal with his present problem.
The irritating woman growled, her rosy lips parting over her perfect white teeth. “You listen to me, Sasquatch. I was minding my own business, when you followed me into the woods. And, I might add, if it weren’t for me, you’d be dead right now!”
“You’ll be wishing I were, if you dinnae watch your step.”
“As amusing as this is, I think I would prefer it if you took it outside,” Ian said with a soft chuckle.
Their heads snapped to the side, facing the bed.
“I have caused enough grief for poor Elspeth here,” he continued, patting her hand. “I do not think she would appreciate any more blood being spilled on her fine linens.”
“Ach, my, no.” Elspeth glided to the woman’s side and took her by the arm. Pulling her toward the door, she said, “Come with me, lass, and we’ll get you cleaned up and proper.”
The bothersome female shot Colin a look over her shoulder as Elspeth led her from the room.
Ian grinned like a buffoon as the door closed behind them. “She’s amazing, is she not? Never in my life have I met a more captivating woman.”
“You’ve gone daft from too much drink, mon. That—” he pointed toward the door, “—isna a woman. Not in the way you mean.”
Ian grinned broadly. “I can see you like her as much as I. Well, my friend, you shall have to wait until I am fully recovered before we can fight over her.”
“If you weren’t already wounded, I’d be happy tae break your nose.”
“Come now, Colin. Even you have to admit, she has an unusual fighting skill. And she did do you a great favor by pulling you off your horse,” he said with a chuckle, then winced. “A sight I never dreamed I would see. Colin MacLean, unhorsed by a woman.”
“‘Tis not funny, and you’ll not mention it again.”
“Quite right, quite right, but ‘twas so—” he gripped his side with laughter.
Colin spun on his heels and stormed from the room. “Damn Sassenach.”
Chapter Four
Tuck followed the woman down the hallway, her thoughts jumping around in her head like Mexican jumping beans.
Where was she? How did she get here, wherever here was? And why did she feel the oddest urge to grab that stubborn, bull-headed Scot by the shirt and—no she wouldn’t finish that thought. If she did it meant she’d finally gone over the edge. Sex had no place in this delusion. If it was a delusion. That explanation was rapidly losing its validity. Everything felt too real. All of her senses, and a few she rarely ever used, were operating at peak performance. She could smell, touch, taste, see, hear everything around her. And those unused senses, the ones her hormones ruled, were doing some very bizarre things. But she was determined to ignore them.
It was bad enough that Ian’s teasing and that kiss to her hand had thrown her for a loop, but MacLean was a different story entirely. Parts of her body were tingling eagerly. It was enough to make her stomach twist into knots.
“Are you not well, lass?” Elspeth asked.
“Oh, um, sorry. I guess I’m just a little tired. It’s been a rough day.” A fatigued sigh escaped her lips. She hadn’t felt this drained since boot camp.
“We’ll get you cleaned up and in some proper clothes then you’ll feel like yourself again.”
“Proper clothes?” She glanced down at her jeans, not happy with what the woman was insinuating. But if she was being inducted into this reenactment thing then proper clothes meant a dress of some sort. Women didn’t go around in jeans in the—whatever century she was supposedly in.
She took a deep breath, letting that thought settle into place, but her rational side didn’t exactly buy it. Nor did it buy the only other explanation left to her.
Time travel.
She snorted. Right. Time travel. I must be insane.
She could not, would not accept that possibility. It wasn’t tangible. It scored right up there with fairytales, wishing wells, and water sprites.
“Water sprites,” she rasped, stumbling to a halt.
“What’s that, lass?”
; “Oh, nothing. Just thinking out loud.” What had Jenny said about the fountain and a water sprite? There had to be a connection. Or was she really going off the deep end?
She rubbed at her temple where one doozy of a headache was forming. Her only option at this juncture was to go along with whatever came her way and adapt as she saw fit. The blood was real, and so was that finally honed steel MacLean had held at her throat.
Regardless of where or when she was, whether she was crazy or sane, she had a job to do, and the best way to accomplish that was to gather all the information she could. She needed to know whom she was dealing with before she could plan her next move.
“So, Elspeth. What’s your relationship to MacLean?” she asked, making her tone as light as she could, which was just this side of a demand, but for Tuck it was as good as she got.
The woman’s soft honey eyes glittered with warmth. “He’s my nephew, the dear.”
Dear? “Right. And he’s been gone a while, I take it.”
“Aye, nearly six months. I expect they’ll have many an adventurous tale to tell.” Elspeth shook her head with a small grin.
“I’ll bet,” Tuck muttered, holding back her snicker. Their stories would likely rival the ones her old army buddies used to tell. There’d be so much exaggeration, they couldn’t be believed.
And his claymore was—this—big . She cleared the chuckle from her throat. Making stupid jokes wouldn’t get her back where she belonged.
She glanced at her watch then discretely slipped it back under her sleeve. “What’s the date? I lost track of time on my, uh, travels.”
“‘Tis the twentieth of March. Have you been journeying long?”
“Yeah, you could say that. Um, and the year?”
Elspeth stopped in front of a chamber door and lifted a worried gaze to hers. “You poor lamb. I knew it the first moment I laid my eyes upon you. How long has it been since you’ve had a place tae call home?”
Tuck cleared her throat, surprised by the small lump that formed from the genuine sincerity glittering in the older woman’s eyes. She’d never had a real home, not one worth remembering, anyway. “A while. The year, Elspeth. What is it?”
She shook her head with a soft frown. “‘Tis fifteen hundred and eighty-four.”
Tuck swallowed the panic rising in her throat as waves of dread roiled through her. If she were crazy, why would she choose that specific year? Had her subconscious plucked it out of one of the tour guides’ talks? Even if it did, how would that explain the names of these people? Sure MacLean was an easy pick, but Elspeth, Maighread, and what about the Englishman, Ian Southernland? She knew she’d never heard them before. And her watch. If they were a reenactment group gone schizoid, then why did her watch have the supposedly correct date? All except the year? If she’d been knocked out, they could’ve tampered with watch. But why?
Unless…the computer chip couldn’t calculate before 1900.
Elspeth grasped her gently by the arms. “Are you ill? Can I get you something? Ach, dear me. Should I call for Colin?”
Tuck nearly leapt from her arms. “No! I mean, no thanks. I’ll be okay. I just hadn’t realized that I’d been on the road for so long.” For more than four hundred years.
No, it wasn’t possible, and yet the evidence continued to pile around her.
“Aye, perhaps a wee rest will do you good,” Elspeth said as she ushered her inside the chamber.
Tuck scanned the room, missing nothing. A heavy curtained bed with an embroidered cover faced a fireplace. Several pegs dotted one wall while the other walls were covered with woven rugs and small tapestries. A pair of chairs flanked the hearth and alongside one sat a small chest with Celtic inscriptions decorating the top.
Sunlight streamed in through the window, distorted by the glazed glass, and danced on the rough wooden floor. The planks creaked as she crossed the room to look outside while Elspeth started a small fire in the hearth.
The room faced inland, and she could see for miles. The landscape was not the same one she and Jenny had traveled. No paved road, no modern houses, no sign of anything familiar, but she was on the Isle of Mull. There was no mistaking the mountains in the distance.
Her eyes shot to the sky and the soft wispy clouds, not a single jet vapor trail. In the woods, a faint sign of spring touched the trees. It wasn’t June. Her watch hadn’t been tampered with.
Tuck’s shoulders slumped with the weight of the facts before her. She was not where—when she belonged, and she had no idea how she got here.
The sound of hinges squeaking brought her attention back to Elspeth. The woman pulled a skirt of dark burgundy, a cream colored bodice, and a few other items from a large chest sitting in the far corner near the door.
“I think this will suit you. ‘Twas my sister’s.” She eyed Tuck for a moment, then said, “Take off your waistcoat and let me have a look at you tae be sure.”
Acting on the side of caution, Tuck turned her back. As quietly as possible, she unzipped her down vest, not wanting to frighten the woman.
Holding the vest over one arm, she faced Elspeth once again.
“Aye, ‘twill suit you fine. You are about the same size. A big bonny lass, she was, just like you.”
Tuck snorted softly. Bonny? She’d been called a lot of things in her life, but that definitely wasn’t one of them.
Elspeth laid the items on the bed then moved to help her with the rest of her clothes.
“I think I can handle it,” Tuck said. She may have managed to get out of her coat okay, but her blue jeans and sport bra were a different story. The way her luck was running, she’d send the woman running into the hills screaming she was a witch. Not a happy thought. Didn’t they burn witches in the sixteenth century?
Elspeth’s hands lingered on her cable knit sweater. “I have never seen such a fine weave. Did you craft it yourself?”
“Yeah, right,” she said with a derisive chuckle.
The older woman cocked her head, her dainty brows crinkled.
“I mean, no, I didn’t. Look, I’m not exactly the kind of woman—what I mean is, where I’m from women don’t weave and sew and stuff. Well, some do, but…” She sat on the edge of the bed and ran a hand over her face. “Look, I’m what you would call a soldier or warrior. I don’t have any of the skills a normal woman would have.” The truth left a bitter taste in her mouth.
Elspeth eased down on the bed beside her, the leather straps groaning with the added weight, and gently clasped her hand. She gazed into her eyes for several minutes, raising the hairs on the back of Tuck’s neck. The few that weren’t already snapped to attention.
A smile eased over the woman’s round face. “Aye, you are different, and you have come from far away. With a bit of help from the fey folk, no doubt, but I dinnae ken what I’m seeing.”
“Seeing?”
She laughed softly and patted her hand. “Dinnae fash yourself, lass. I have the gift of second sight. Not as strong as my sister’s, but a gift nonetheless.”
“Uh-huh.” Tuck dropped her head into her chilled hands. She was losing it. She hadn’t traveled back in time, and she wasn’t sitting on an antique feather bed in sixteenth century Scotland talking about second sight and fey folk of all things.
“All will be well.” Elspeth patted her shoulder as she rose. “I’ll have some water sent up so you can wash, then we’ll leave you tae rest.” She paused at the door. “What is your name, lass?”
“Amelia Tucker.”
“Amelia. Aye, ‘tis a fine name.”
Tuck spun around on the bed. “Elspeth?” The woman paused with one foot in the hallway. “Why doesn’t my being different…frighten you?” she asked with a small shrug.
Elspeth smiled softly, oddly warming Tuck’s insides. “I have seen many strange things in my years with both these eyes and with the sight. Things I dinnae understand. I have learned tae accept them since I canna change them. You have a good heart, Amelia, and a skill with healing. I have not
hing tae fear from you, lass.”
First Jenny and now Elspeth. Tuck shook her head, thoroughly bewildered. How had she managed to find two women years apart both in age and centuries, who were capable of accepting the unexplainable so easily? She almost envied them. They wouldn’t feel like their heads were about to split open trying to deal with the possibility of time travel.
“Rest a bit, lamb. Then we’ll have supper tae welcome our Colin home.” With that, the woman slipped out, pulling the door closed behind her.
“Oh, joy. Dinner with the beast. I can hardly wait,” she said to the grey stone walls as she yanked her knit hat off her head, ignoring the slight increase in her pulse.
Tuck eyed the pile of fabric lying beside her. Warily, she stuck out a finger and poked at the skirt and bodice.
“Fabulous. I’ll look like a dinner theater refugee. One of the ugly stepsisters from Cinderella, no doubt.”
The door squeaked open and the same young girl who’d brought the medical supplies—well, the whiskey—to Ian’s room, eased inside.
“I brought you some water. ‘Tis warm,” she said, scurrying to the fireplace, her voice quivering. With shaking hands, she filled a basin sitting on a small bench. “I also brought soap and a soft bit of cloth.”
She laid the items down, then lifted her head and smiled tremulously. “Will you be needin’ anything else?”
Tuck shook her head, a little disappointed that she was obviously frightening the girl. “No. But thanks.”
With a nod, the girl hurried to the door, her skirt swishing around her ankles.
“Wait a minute,” she called.
The girl jerked to a halt and peered over her shoulder. “Aye?” she squeaked.
“What’s your name?”
“F-Fiona.”
Tuck attempted a smile, which probably resembled more of a grimace, but it was worth a shot. She couldn’t stand the fact that this kid was terrified of her. “I don’t bite.”
Fiona’s eyes widened.
She ran a hand over her face. “Christ. I mean I won’t hurt you or anything. Understand? I’m just a visitor, a traveler.”
