by Lexi Post
He’d kept her from changing history that day and took her back to Stonehaven through the stream. Then just as quickly, Go-Lucky disappeared. She’d been completely lost when Jules telepathically contacted her and helped her understand her sudden time-travel experience. It was her heart-wrenching emotional response that had triggered her latent genetic ability to travel through time, which had in turn alerted Rafter, their Time Keeper, to her presence. Jules explained that there were very few who had this unusual gene. Right then and there, Jules recruited her as the first TWI agent in the district, though at first neither of them thought she had what it took.
Javier, TWI’s combat trainer, had been instrumental in forcing her to gain the physical strength and expertise she needed, but it had been old Arthur who had educated her on Time Weavers, Inc. The three-year-old privately funded business based in Toronto was founded and run by Jules, who had the ability to communicate telepathically. The company flew under all government radars, preferring to keep its activities hidden since only TWI personnel were aware of changes in history. According to Arthur, time-travel agents and staff were born with a gene that gave them abilities beyond the norm. Though there were many male staff, none except Go-Lucky were able to travel through time, which had given rise to speculation that only women with their double X chromosomes had that particular ability. TWI’s first priority was to identify and protect this natural evolutionary process by bringing those like herself into the fold, but once under Jules’s wing, their mission was to change history back.
Whatever evolutionary process she was a part of, it certainly didn’t entail the absence of sweat in a warm environment. Wiping her brow with her sleeve, she set the dough on the shelf to rise. At least the heat was good for something. Did the women ever take breaks, or did they work until sundown? Arthur’s knowledge didn’t have much information on the details of daily life, especially for the ladies. She looked at Nessa. How did she do it all day?
Nessa’s soft profile as she stood, a hand at her back, emphasized her well-endowed chest. The woman was probably in her early twenties, so a bit younger than herself. Nessa turned and caught her staring, her round face puckered in concern. “Ye look like ye need cooling, Diana. Let’s go outside.”
She didn’t have much say in the matter as Nessa took her by the arm and tugged her out the door. The sun was still high in the summer sky, but the open air already cooled her skin. Nessa stopped in front of a large well and cranked up a bucket. Small cups hung on the side and she dunked one into the water and drank.
“Here.” Nessa handed her a cup. “It’s winter cold.”
Using a cup everyone had used wasn’t the most sanitary way to drink water, but she was too hot to care. As she swallowed, she could feel the cool liquid slide down her throat, through her chest, and into her stomach. Ah, it felt good!
“Look.” Nessa pointed to where a number of men fought, the low sounds of male grunts clashing with the sharp tones of metal striking upon metal.
Her brain filled in the details from Arthur’s information. It was some kind of sword practice. An area on one side of the castle keep was vacant of any outbuildings, but at the moment was filled with about twenty men, all with various weapons in their hands.
Nessa bumped her shoulder. “Aren’t they worth taking a rest for?”
She studied Nessa. The woman had a dreamy look on her face as she stared at the field. Obviously, she was sweet for one of the men. “Which one, Nessa?”
Her new friend laughed gaily and blushed, which made the large array of freckles on her face blend together in a pleasant rosy hue. “Ach, ye are too wise. I admit, the one to the right of the laird is most to me liking. His name is Evan.”
“Which one is the laird?”
But even before Nessa spoke, it became clear. It was the same MacPherson from the battlements earlier. She’d guessed right. The man was a giant and shirtless, the upper part of his leine opened wide to hang about his waist over a belt. His long brown hair contained strong red highlights that reflected the sun. His corded muscles moved gracefully as he lifted the great two-handed sword and struck at his opponent. Her body heated at the sight.
Nessa’s voice floated over the scene. “He’s the tall one close to the wall. He fights with Fergus, who is much older but has a few tricks of his own, and Ian, who is still learning. Evan is to the right.”
She spared a glance at the man Nessa liked, noting he was of slim build and had his black hair tied in a ponytail—or queue, to be historically accurate—but she snapped her gaze back to the laird in the pale yellow leine that fell barely to his knees. As he turned quickly to take another hit from the older man he battled, his legs were bared, and she witnessed a healthy view of sinewy thighs. She sucked in air. Then he bent and straightened, his sweat-glistened back revealing a play of muscle as natural as waves upon a calm sea. Well, Dickens, wasn’t the laird supposed to be old?
“Diana. Diana!”
Nessa’s tug on her arm brought her back to their conversation. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”
“Ye were staring at the laird, weren’t ye?” She shook her head. “He’s good for a tumble, but don’t be settin’ yer dreams on him. He never takes the same lass to his bed twice in a row.”
“What?” Her stomach tensed. How callous.
Nessa sighed. “’Tis a sad truth. He will not commit to one woman for fear it will distract him from his purpose. Us MacPhersons are a loyal lot, and this one has more reason than most to be dedicated to the king. But some of the women whisper that the laird will not give his heart to a lass because he has lost too many he loved already. They say he refuses to love ever again.”
Her tension dissipated as sympathy flooded her. Who was she to judge a medieval man who preferred one-night stands to keep his heart safe? There were people in her own time period who did the same thing. Part of her year-long training had been to prepare for different values depending on the century, but it appeared this defense mechanism was timeless.
She needed to keep her focus on her assignment and not on the man himself. If he chose not to love to avoid pain, that was his issue. For her, after the death of her parents, she’d been able to fill the emptiness with more people to love. Now the staff of TWI was her family. Maybe the coping mechanism wasn’t so much a time difference oddity as a gender thing.
It had been almost two years since her parents’ accident, but still, sometimes the loss of them would hit her like a nuclear blast. They had been her whole world. As the only child come late in life for the two university professors, she’d had all their attention, but had never been spoiled despite her father’s ancestral wealth. Her parents had been strict but loving, her mom her best friend, her father her biggest supporter. They believed she could do anything she wanted.
What she wanted was to accomplish her assignment successfully.
Nessa leaned close and whispered. “Still, I heard it on good authority that the laird be a good lover. Ye know, the kind that puts a woman’s needs first?”
She stared at Nessa in shock. “Is the man’s prowess in bed the topic of conversation often?”
“Oh aye.” Nessa wiggled her brows, her brown eyes dancing with delight. “It’s usually after one of the women has spent the night with him. They just can’t keep their mouths closed.”
She turned to study the man again. He was truly huge, towering above all but one of the men in the yard. It was hard to believe he could actually be killed in battle. He fought two men at once, though it was obvious one was still in training and the other already gray.
“Ye’ll have to ask his permission to stay, of course.” Nessa took her cup from her and dropped it on a hook. “I am sure he will say aye since there is plenty of room to bed down in the Great Hall. It’s fairly quiet in there, that is if Fergus isn’t snoring, and with the married ones with children living in the village. As long as ye are related to one of us and willing to help, the laird will be glad to have ye.”
She swallo
wed hard. She had to meet that man? She really didn’t want to know any more about him than what he looked like, and that had already been more than enough for her peace of mind. The success of her mission hinged on her making sure he died in battle as he had originally and getting any closer would just make that more difficult.
Dropping the bucket back into the well for the next thirsty person, Nessa moved forward. “They’ve finished for the day. Let us speak with him now.”
She grabbed Nessa’s arm. “Now?” She cleared her throat. “I mean, he probably has more important matters to attend to.”
Nessa hooked their arms again. “Nay, he doesn’t. He will drink ale with his men while they rest, then he will bathe, and then we all eat. Every day has a routine except Sundays. It is his way. He is much more predictable than his older brothers were.”
As Nessa dragged her toward the laird, she vaguely wondered at the obsessive schedule, but the man’s laughter caught her attention. Strangely, the sound relaxed her. She didn’t normally get nervous meeting an historic man, but knowing he had to die made it awkward at best.
He slapped the young man he trained on the back and turned toward them as they approached. His smile turned to a devilish grin, and she had to keep herself from moving her hair away from her face as an intense fluttering flowed through her limbs. The man was too much…just too much man.
Nessa stopped a few feet from him. “Laird Torr, this is Diana Montgomery. She came looking for her last living relative, old Fia. She would like to live with our clan. She has already been a godsend to us in the bakery today.”
Torr MacPherson stepped closer, but despite her significant height of five feet ten inches, she found herself looking up—way up. The dirt and sweat on his chest only enhanced the mounds of pectoral muscle, and his shoulders made her wonder if they could fit through a modern doorway. Her gaze reached his face where she encountered a square jaw full of stubble, a slightly crooked nose, and eyes the exact color of the sky. The man was breathtaking and raw.
He lost his grin. “I am sorry ye came this far only to find yerself alone, lass. Is it true what Nessa says? Do ye want to live here, and are ye willing to work for the good of the clan?”
The sincerity in his voice made her hesitate. She felt like a traitor, but this was her job and her success was important to the future. “Yes, I’m willing and would be grateful for a place to rest my head.”
The laird smiled warmly. “Ye are welcome then. Nessa, ye will be responsible for her.”
Nessa nodded. “Aye, I will.”
“Good.” He turned back to the men, and Nessa pulled her away. Usually, the lack of attention she received as a woman in any historical time period made her smile, but she found MacPherson’s quick dismissal irritating. What was wrong with her? She needed to focus on her mission—his death.
She stopped Nessa before entering the bakery where her change of clothes and blanket lay in a corner of the rye-and-flour-filled building.
Nessa balked. “What?”
She glanced back and found Torr watching her. As handsome as the man was, she didn’t want him noticing her. It would not be good for history or for her. She shivered and returned her attention to Nessa. “Is there a place where I can wash?”
“Ye mean besides the well?”
She nodded.
“There be the castle bath, but on the days we want to, we have to wait until after the meal.”
“Oh.” She scanned the courtyard and noticed the laird had disappeared.
“Come. We do not have long before we eat. Let me show ye the hall.” Nessa looked to where the men had disappeared into the castle and lowered her voice, a wicked grin on her full face. “And then I can show ye a place from which we can watch the men bathe.”
“Nessa!”
Chapter Two
Torr put down his ale and studied the four new members of his castle. In the past month, his clan had grown, not by natural means. After three years of losing people, he found it hard to accept that it now increased, especially so fast. His gut told him not to trust this situation, and he always followed his gut. That’s how he had found Kerr under the dead horse last winter.
He glanced at the king. He now housed Scotland’s last hope, a responsibility he took seriously, so he had to be cautious. Ian, a cousin to Fergus, was hopefully too young to know intrigue, though he wouldn’t rule him out completely, not yet. Douglas and Graham were grown men and despite good reasons for joining him, either or both could be spies. His most recent addition had arrived in the form of the woman, Diana. He would like to categorize her with Ian, no threat, at least to Robert, but he’d be a fool to discount her so quickly.
She was beautiful in a way he’d never encountered before. Her pale blond locks refused to stay within the braid at her back and curled about her face in the summer heat. Her eyes shone a pale green like newly sprung leaves of heather, and her lips, a deep salmon color, appeared softer than the fleece of a lamb. However, she had a strong nose and chin, which forewarned a stubbornness he was used to in a Highland woman.
He picked up his tankard and swallowed more ale. Diana’s fully curved body revealed by the leine soaked to her skin this afternoon would be worth challenging any resistance she may choose to make were he to invite her to his bed. From her regular glances toward him, she was either interested in his bed or she’d joined them for a nefarious purpose.
“Torr, what has you so preoccupied that you miss your brother’s jest?”
His king’s voice refocused his concentration on his own table, and he lowered his tankard. “I only think about yer safety.”
King Robert shook his head. “I have to agree with Kerr, you forget that both he and I can defend ourselves.”
“On the contrary.” He lifted a piece of chicken from his trencher and with it, pointed to his younger brother. “I am well aware of Kerr’s ability to defend himself, but a lowland laird like yerself, I have my doubts. I have seen no proof of this supposed prowess.”
His table grew silent, and he was hard pressed to keep a smirk from his face. His liege was aware of his ploy.
Robert rose and banged on the table with his tankard until the Great Hall grew quiet. “I have been challenged by this upstart laird!” His voice boomed. “He believes me ill equipped to defend myself, a belief he has hinted at for the past year now. I think it is time I met his challenge.”
Torr perused the faces of his clan. Many appeared uneasy, but those of his men who knew him well, like his brother, grinned. His gaze rested on his newest clan member. Her brows were knit with concern, but was it for him or his king? Either way, he liked the loyalty revealed in her expression. He stood with his tankard in hand and faced Robert. “The practice yard at midday tomorrow then!”
The king raised his cup. “Tomorrow!”
As they tipped back their ale, a cheer rose and Robert clapped him on the back.
Torr smiled. “It will be my honor to spar with ye. Would ye the broadsword or the claymore?”
Robert resumed his seat, and he followed. “I prefer to best you with the broadsword. It will reveal my skill to our followers. There is no need for the claymore. My endurance has already been proven these last eight months.”
“Aye, it has. The broadsword it will be then.”
When Robert’s attention was once more taken by the men at the table, Torr looked across the room for a pale blond head and was surprised to discover it missing. Scanning the room, he noticed Nessa gone, too, but Evan was still present. He’d wager Nessa was as loyal a clan member as any. Did she follow Diana to spy on her?
The meal would continue for a while, but his curiosity was too much to ignore and with the king in residence, he couldn’t risk ignoring the women’s disappearance. Leaving the table, he stepped outside, careful not to make a sound. The evening was quiet except for the female voices coming from the secluded area behind the blacksmith forge where he and his men had recently bathed.
As silent as the night air, he m
oved, keeping to the shadows. When he stood alongside the wall of the forge, he held still and listened. Water splashed and one woman let out a brief cry before it was hushed. He smirked, his concerns laid to rest.
“Shh, Nessa. Someone will discover us.”
“Then don’t be splashing me with water. If my dress gets too wet, people will be able to see me lady’s parts.”
A chuckle followed that statement. “But isn’t that what you want, for Evan to see all of you?”
“Ach, ye’ve got the devil in ye, ye do. What ye be knowing about that?” The giggles that followed made it clear both women knew more about bedding than they admitted to.
He listened for any suggestion that Diana would be climbing out of the bath water, but the only sound was shuffling on the dirt.
A movement in his peripheral vision distracted him. Now who was about? Sliding to the other end of the wall, he spied around the corner. Someone ducked to the side of the stable before moving through the shadow of the curtain wall and disappearing behind a cart of hay. They did not want to be seen. This was not right, unless he had a spy in his midst.
Diana’s voice floated to him as he peered into the shadows. “I know plenty just by watching you look at Evan. You don’t hide it well.”
Something hit the side of the tub and made a loud thump. Giggles followed. The figure across the yard stopped at the sound. Torr pulled back, making his body flush with the building. After another thump, he heard the women moving, hopefully dressing. He peered around the corner again but couldn’t find the person he’d watched. He scanned the line of huts along the north wall, as well as the chicken coop and the hay shelter, but did not see anything. Protective instincts flooded his body even as anger at a possible betrayal surfaced. He turned in the direction he’d last seen movement, ready to step into the yard and follow.
