by L. L. Muir
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
James rode to the shores of Loch Rannoch, and though it was the middle of the day, and a lot more work could have been done, his mind was not on the new construction. It was on the old.
In particular, he couldn’t stop seeing the stones in the wall of the great hall, Phoebe Jones pressed up against them, and she just as powerless to stop the madness of that first kiss. And the next.
It was easy to blame it on the inevitable emotions of their conversation. She was reeling from a terrible blow. He’d only wanted to help, and that would have been impossible from across the room. Touching her had been necessary. What happened after that was a natural progression. He should have anticipated it, but he hadn’t.
Spilt milk and all that.
Hopefully, a quick swim in the cold Loch would avoid such disasters again. And it was important that none of it happened again, because soon, Phoebe Jones would be gone from his life again, and now that he’d had all those questions answered, he didn’t intend to spend another two years thinking about her.
He stripped and walked down to the water’s edge, but paused when he realized there were still three questions the lass would have to answer before she left for good.
M.
S.
And U.
~ ~ ~
“Mr. Sexy Unicorn.”
Phoebe choked on a bite of bread when James said the words out of the blue. They were far too close to the truth! But she hid behind her cup of bitter wine while she composed herself. “I beg your pardon?”
His eyes smiled while he chewed. “I think it’s time we got this teasing behind us, what do ye say?”
“I say nice try, but no cigar.”
They ate in smiling silence for a minute. Flanders appeared and headed for their table, but James waved him off. To her surprise, he just nodded and joined another table.
“Male Chauvinist Unicorn?”
“Really? Chauvinist with a C?” She rolled her eyes and ignored him again. If he hit the name head on, she’d have to admit it. He’d see it on her face anyway. In fact, she was surprised he couldn’t tell how close his first guess had been.
He watched carefully until she lifted her cup to drink. “Matching Silk Underwear?”
She laughed, proving she hadn’t taken a drink. “Obviously you want to see wine shoot out my nose.” She laughed again. “Matching Silk Underwear...” The picture that popped in her head made her suddenly suspicious and she narrowed her eyes at him. “Are you wearing modern underwear?”
His blush came fast and furious, and she was surprised everyone in the room wasn’t jumping up to see what was wrong.
“You are,” she hissed. “Why, you hypocrite.” After they spent another minute acting like nothing was wrong, she slipped her eating knife below the tablecloth and poked him in the leg. “You’d better not have burned mine.”
He cleared his throat, and when she put the knife back on the table, he rubbed his thigh. “I might still have them.”
That time, she was the one to blush, knowing they weren’t clean.
“We should talk about something else,” he said gruffly.
She could only nod. But after a while, she couldn’t resist another question. “James?”
“Aye?”
“Was this always your plan? To be the laird of a clan? Or did you plan for something more adventurous.”
“Such as?”
“I don’t know. Maybe you wanted to be something else, like…a Viking pirate? Someone with no responsibilities must have a simpler life than this.”
He gave her a strange look. “I suppose I never wanted anything so badly that I would be willing to steal it. Besides, it’s fairly rewarding to build something with my own hands, to bring people together in a place they feel safe, in a place they can be happy.”
Another course was served and when he began listing what was inside the little pies, she held up her hand to stop him. “Please. I’m really hungry. Just let me eat it and pretend.”
He seemed to understand, and the little meat pies turned out to be so tasty she nearly asked what they were made of. Almost. Even in the twenty-first century, it wasn’t a safe question to ask in Scotland.
Their table sat apart from the others, on the dais behind his “throne,” so they were able to speak freely, if quietly, unless the pages came close with more food and drink. So she felt safe asking him, “Since we obviously didn’t come looking for the same thing,” she could feel herself blushing again, but she ignored it, “then do you mind me asking what you gave everything up for?”
He thought about it for a minute while he finished his pasty. “I was tired of the greed I saw everywhere I turned, aye? Even away from the tourist traps. But then again, I saw much of the world while working for the government.”
“You weren’t a spy, were you?” She laughed, but cut it short when she got a good look at his face. “Are you kidding me?”
He shrugged. “Nothing as sexy as on television, but yes. I retired about, oh, two years before you and I met.”
“Good training for the fourteenth century?”
He smiled. “Priceless. It gave me instant worth. And here, worth is much more important than currency. However...” He pushed his plate away and took a long drink before setting his cup aside too. “Here, it is all about protection. Everything a man does is motivated by his need to keep himself and his family safe—from starvation, the elements, the enemy. Knowing this, I once believed that life here would be a hundred times simpler. But I was wrong. I realized that twenty-first century man is motivated by the same goal. Only there, safety must be purchased. So the struggle to earn more, succeed more—they’re just the means to the same goal. The more money you have, the safer you are. Only an incredibly secure man could resist entering the competition for more.”
“Was that you, then? Secure Man?”
He laughed and shook his head. “Oh, I had more money than I could spend in a lifetime, even if I put my heart into the spending. But no. I was hardly secure. And after I retired, I didn’t know who I was anymore. And I resented those who knew themselves.”
“So, what made you want to come back here? I mean, other than the simple life. How did you even think of it? And how did you know the Muirs could help you?”
He sighed dramatically. “I’m afraid that is a tale for another day. Suffice it to say that I was inspired by a woman from the 15th century.”
“So you were in love with…a time traveler?”
“Nay. I barely knew her, actually. But the promise that there were more amazing women sprinkled throughout time made me take a chance.”
She understood now. “Thus, the cattle call.”
He looked embarrassed by it, even though it was his own idea. She was embarrassed that the conversation had circled around to a reminder of their passionate kiss, and why it had meant nothing to him.
“And what about Phoebe Mac Jones? Why were ye so willing to give up yer country for mine, eh? Some romantic notion of finding a Highlander all yer own?”
She didn’t want to talk about her past, but she supposed, since he’d shared some personal details, she could do the same.
“I told you I came over because my employer sent me. But I stayed because...it was better to just pretend like my life started here, you know? I lost my mother a long time ago, and I recently learned that my father was to blame. People were telling me I needed to get over it and make up with him, that he was all the family I had. But you know what? All bad relationships can’t be blamed on misunderstandings. Some assholes are just assholes.” She gave James a big smile to try and soften her crass words. “There was nothing worth going back to the States for.”
He had a strange look on his face she couldn’t begin to understand. But she pretended he was willing to accept her reason for being an expatriate. Someone who had done dangerous work for their own government probably couldn’t understand giving up their citizenship without a very good reason.
They turned to watch the far end of the hall where a group of people had just entered behind one of the Duncan soldiers. She glanced at James and noticed he was seriously alarmed, so she put her hand on his and asked what was wrong.
“I believe, lass, ye’re about to have yer theory confirmed.”
“What theory?”
He stared at her hand for a second, then finally raised his gaze to hers. “That sometimes, an asshole is just an asshole.”
She looked back at the newcomers. Four people dressed in a deep, pretty shade of blue. Two women, two men—in perfectly matching sets.
“I don’t suppose they’re Muirs,” she said, jokingly.
James’ was still staring at her. “Aye, lass. Muirs. And I’m the bastard who sent for them.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
The late evening was mild with only a tease of a breeze to stir the air, high on the battlements at the top of the tower keep. James had given it some thought and believed it was the only place safe enough to speak of witches and impossible things without someone overhearing. In the past two years, he’d expended a good deal of effort to blend in with the population, and he wasn’t about to let a noose fall around his neck if he could prevent it.
The Muirs gave no complaint when they were asked to climb four stories before they had a chance to catch their breaths. But James had promised them food and drink, and a place to rest while they had their discussion.
The women looked to be in their fifties. The men much older than that.
James pulled Raulf aside and strongly advised he forget everything he might have heard or seen since he left the shores of Loch Tay for his journey north. The wide-eyed young man concurred, and happily. “I worried I might be expected to share what I’ve seen, but I’d just as soon strike it all from my memory, yer lairdship.”
One of the Muir brothers interrupted and assured them that Raulf would remember nothing in a few hours. It was enough to convince James he was dealing with people just as gifted and dangerous as those sweet and innocent-seeming sisters at The Enchanted Tea Cup.
Once the four visitors were seated on the rooftop and a modest picnic laid out in front of them, James was surprised to see Flanders pop up through the hatch.
“Flanders, my friend. Believe me when I say ye’ll be a happy man if ye hear none of this conversation.”
But the man kept climbing, secured the door from the outside, and joined the party with an eager smile. “If ye think I don’t ken yer secrets after all this time, James, ye’re either blind or wish to be. After all, I’ve seen those stockings, aye?” He laughed, then greeted the Muirs before picking out a seat between merlons. He looked at James again, and shrugged. “I’ll ask for no explanations, but I will not go, brother.”
Flanders knows my secrets? Impossible! But theirs would also be a conversation for another day.
James gave Phoebe a grimace of an apology, then addressed the Muirs. “My man explained?”
The nearest brother nodded. “He said ye had a message for us, from the future. And yet, ye didn’t send the message along.”
James nodded. “I wanted to ensure ye came.”
“How could we resist?”
James reached into his tunic and pulled out the little parchment envelope he’d retrieved from his buried treasure at Loch Tay. It was difficult to relinquish any of the precious mementoes he had from his past, but he forced himself to turn it over to the stranger.
Phoebe looked worried. “What’s that?”
“A letter the Muir witches gave me—for a dire emergency. She said to find the Muir clan and give them the envelope, and they would help if they could.”
The man pulled a paper out and unfolded it, then glanced at James with a question pinching his brows together.
“Yes. I know. I opened it before I sent for ye.”
“There is nothing written here.”
James shrugged. “I was afraid of that. But I had hoped for a hidden message only ye would ken how to discern. Even so...”
The man smiled to one side of his mouth. “Even so, ye believe we can be of help? Ye have so much faith in the Muir clan, then?”
He shook his head. “I will only say that there is a pair of sisters in the twenty-first century who believed in ye.”
All four Muirs seemed quite pleased to hear that and exchanged happy smiles with each other. Then they settled into their meal while James explained everything that had happened to him, and to Phoebe, including the fact that Wickham had dropped him off two years earlier, while the lass had only come recently. “And due to a misunderstanding, Phoebe should never have come. I beg ye to return her to her own time. She is in grave danger from a Laird Stephan, and cannot remain here, at Todlaw.”
One of the women climbed to her feet and moved to stand before Flanders. Her kinsmen held their tongues while they watched her. After a moment, she moved to Phoebe’s side, squeezed her hand, and smiled kindly before moving on to face James.
She narrowed her eyes at him. “She would cause a rift between ye and the man who calls ye brother.” She nodded toward Flanders. “Already ye’ve come close to blows. And yet...” She turned back to her kin. “All three are willing to sacrifice to keep this from happening.”
James looked sharply at Flanders.
His friend’s gaze lowered. “I am willing to leave, James, if ye wish to wed her. I can return to Stout Duncan.” He forced a smile. “We would still fight together. And I do understand.” He caught Phoebe’s eye and winked.
The Muir woman shook her head. “The lass wishes to go. There is no need for the Viking to leave.”
James swallowed a lump the size of a peach pit. “Then she should go, if that is possible.”
The Muir woman narrowed her eyes at him again. “And what of yer sacrifice?”
With a hard stare, he let her know she pried too deep. “Ye’re wrong. I sacrifice nothing. I only hope ye can help her.”
The woman bit her lip to hide her smile, but he saw it. She was laughing at him. She knew this was destroying him. But what could he do? Why admit he had made a mistake, when there was no going back for him?
He couldn’t go. Phoebe couldn’t stay. They’d been doomed from the start.
“We will take the woman,” the brother announced.
His twin nodded, then suddenly jumped to his feet. “Danger comes on a fast horse. We must go, and now.” He pointed toward the east. And though there was nothing on the horizon, James knew who was coming. He grabbed Flanders’ arm. “Take them to the tunnel. Get them away from here. I’ll send men along with some horses after the bastard leaves.”
His friend nodded. “If he leaves.” He hurried to the hatch and unlocked it, then helped the sisters climb down.
James turned to Phoebe. She slammed into him and held on. “We didn’t have a chance to say goodbye.” When she looked up, her eyes were wet with tears.
“It is my fault, Phoebe lass.” He smiled sadly and pushed the hair away from her temples. “We never had a chance for a proper hello.” He ducked to kiss her lips as hard and fast as he could, but a shout from a Muir man cut it short.
“There, my lord.” He pointed to the horizon where a band of men crested the rise. Another hour, and their dark colors would have blended into the night.
James took one more precious second to look into Phoebe’s eyes. “Be happy. And have an Irn-Bru for me, aye?”
“If I make it back.” She squeezed his hand against her head briefly, then let go and ran for the hatch. She paused before slipping out of sight, however. There was a question there, but he ignored it. She had to go, no matter how he felt. A woman like her couldn’t survive long. Her mouth would get her into trouble—and into a fire—in less than a year, even if he watched her closely. Sending her back was the only way to save her. So he looked away.
When he finally dared to look back, she was gone.
The last Muir brother paused in his descent. “We will take her to the Black Isle.”
&nbs
p; “Yes. I know. I was there, once, and learned the value of a tunnel.”
The man’s eyes widened, then he grinned. “If no one comes for her, we will keep her safe—even from herself.”
James nodded, but didn’t ask how they might do so. He didn’t want to know. He couldn’t know.
CHAPTER THIRTY
By the time Stephan arrived, the wall was heavily manned with torches lit all around. James wanted to be standing over the gate, watching the blackguard’s face when he came close enough to realize how imposing and well defended Todlaw now was.
As the light of a dozen torches reflected off faces of the dark riders from the east, James could see the envy burning in their eyes. Did he want them drooling over his keep? No. But he would have their respect.
“Who goes there?” He followed protocol, which would be adhered to at all times, especially with such a cunning guest at his door.
“Laird Stephen,” a soldier shouted. “As ye well ken.”
“Aye,” James said, his calm voice carrying effortlessly across the humid air. “I assume ye’ve brought an offering?”
Stephan tilted his head from side to side. “No.” He paused, no doubt to let his defiance sink in. “I have not come to pay homage to ye, James Duncan. I have come to collect my boon.”
James grinned. “The hour is late for calling, yer lairdship. Perhaps come back in the morning and I will be happy to hear yer petition.”
“James. James.” The man shook his head like a weary parent. “Open yer gates. We have business to discuss, and I am weary of shouting.”
“Feel free to bed down here, my lord.” He gestured to the smooth, clear ground between the curtain wall and their horses. My guards will watch over ye in yer sleep. And I will open my gates in the morning.”
The man shook his head. “Four men I lent for the protection of the candidates. I have every right to speak with them. So ye see, ye will need to open yer gates after all. Surely the hinges work in any light.” He and his men chuckled.
“No need, laird. If ye’ll but look to yer left, ye’ll see that yer men and yer beast were so anxious for yer arrival, they await ye there.” He waved a hand high over his head. “Sleep well.” Then he turned and left the wall to the music of Stephan’s men gasping and sputtering on his behalf.
