Just in Time for a Highlander

by Gwyn Cready

  “I don’t want to stay here.”

  “Then go.” She turned on her heel.

  “Hang on! You can’t just leave me here. I don’t know how to get back.”

  “’Tis not my concern. I saved your life. Return the favor by leaving this place as quickly as possible.”

  He jumped to his feet and ran after her. “I don’t even know where I am.”

  “For the love of St. Margaret.” She gave him a despairing look. “You’re in Langholm.”

  “Scotland?!”

  “Is there another?”

  “Yes. No. I don’t know.” She was heading to her horse, and the only thing clear to Duncan was that he needed to keep her here. “You can’t go! I don’t know how to leave. I have a flight tonight. I’m hungry. And my sword,” he said, running out of reasons. “It’s made of wood.” He held it out lamely.

  She pursed her lips.

  Another woman bounded into view. Her hair was the color of pale honey and shone as if it were wet. Unlike the archer, who walked as if she were a queen, the second woman seemed to glide like a fish through water. She barely looked at him, moving directly toward her friend.

  “Are you hurt? We saw everything from the castle.”

  “No, all is well, thank God. No one was killed, though William is hurt. Undine, do you see what your magic has wrought?” Abby stabbed a finger in Duncan’s direction.

  The woman gave him a full look and her eyes widened. “Oh. Oh, dear.”

  “What magic?” Duncan demanded.

  Undine regarded him thoughtfully. “He’s handsome, at least. And tall. That could be useful. But that hair…”

  “If I wanted handsome, Rosston would certainly do. He at least wields a real sword.” She took Undine by the elbow and turned her away from Duncan. “The poor man appears to have no skills beyond his fists,” she said in a lowered voice. “And I think he’s addled in his head—like Hal the sheep shearer.”

  “What were you thinking?” Undine demanded.

  “What was I thinking?! ’Twas your herbs.”

  “I mean when you opened the paper.”

  “I didn’t open the paper. It was shot out of my hand.”

  “All of it?!” Undine paled.

  “Except for the part that flew in my mouth.” Abby wiped the back of her hand across her tongue and made a sharp sound of disgust. “It tasted like burnt groats.”

  Duncan had had enough of being ignored. “What herbs? What magic? What are you talking about? Did you bring me here?”

  Undine considered. “You could try to make do with him.”

  “Make do?!” Abby cried. “You make do with him! Can’t you see this is the last thing I need with the clans right now?” She pulled herself onto the horse. “You need to get rid of him.”

  The “get rid of him” made Duncan’s stomach tighten. “No. Wait—”

  “Abby?” a voice called from beyond the trees. “Abby, are you there?”

  “Oh, God help us, it’s Rosston.” Abby gave Duncan a warning look. “Don’t say another word.”

  “No!” Duncan grabbed her pommel. “I want to go home! Send me home! I don’t know what you two witches have done.”

  “Silence, you fool.” She jerked the reins in an effort to keep the beast from lurching. The arrow fell from her bow.

  A kilted clansman crested the rise.

  “You, there!” Duncan called to the man. “Help me. These women have—”

  Duncan felt a thwack on the head, and the world went dark.

  Four

  “But, Undine, from where did he come?”

  Through the nauseating throb in his head, Duncan listened, eyes closed. He was lying on his side on cool stone. The mellifluous contralto belonged to the woman called Abby, and despite the pain, he smiled.

  “’Tis not an easy question to answer,” Undine replied thoughtfully. “The spell is a strong one. We could ask him, I suppose.”

  “I’m not sure the man could tell you the sum of ten plus two. And now I’ve had to tell Rosston he was a spy. What am I going to do when Sir Alan arrives?”

  Rosston and Sir Alan. Duncan tried to pin those names into the memory banks in his tender head. Something wet and rough scratched his cheek.

  “Grendel, leave him alone,” Abby commanded. “He’s our prisoner. We do not lick prisoners.”

  Grendel, whatever he was, made a soft noise of disappointment and thumped down. Duncan felt the tickle of fur against his leg.

  Undine sighed. “I’d say drop him in the firth and be done with him, but you’ve called him here, and now he is your responsibility.”

  “I didn’t call him,” Abby said.

  “The herbs left your hand. I’m afraid it amounts to the same thing.”

  Herbs? Hand? Duncan strained to comprehend through the throbbing in his head.

  “And, in any case,” Undine went on, “are you certain you wish to be rid of him? There are one or two fine uses for calves as exceptional as those.”

  Duncan’s eyes flew open.

  “For heaven’s sake, Undine. I am not going to enlist him as a concubine.”

  Undine made a regretful noise. “Pity.”

  “You do realize I’m holding the clan together by a thread right now, with little support from the men. We’ve been bleeding money for years, and we’re on the verge of losing everything. If I can’t convince Sir Alan to invest in the canal, I’ll have to begin selling our land.”

  Duncan added this to his rapidly expanding data bank.

  “You’ll be able to convince Sir Alan,” Undine said. “You are poised and intelligent and—”

  “A woman. Do you know how many loans the bank made to women last year? One. The widow of the Earl of Straithmore, and that was only because her finances are controlled by her cousin. Sir Alan has no patience with the endless fighting of the clans. He is a man of commerce. He sees us as unruly brutes, who blunder about in a world of foolish superstition and meaningless feuds, and who would kill each other as soon as tip our caps.”

  “And how far from wrong is he?”

  “This coming from a woman who says she is descended from the rape of a water nymph?”

  Water nymph? The gears in Duncan’s data bank seized. What the hell had happened to him? He rubbed his head gingerly and the urge to vomit receded. A few scraps of memory were coming back: The reenactment in Pittsburgh. The shocking battle here. The running. The boy. Abby and her bow—that bloody wench! She’d hit him with it, hadn’t she?

  Undine sniffed apologetically. “I didn’t mean to suggest Sir Alan was entirely right—only that he was not entirely wrong.”

  “The clash today has marred our peace. Sir Alan wants his bank’s investments to be free of unnecessary risk. I don’t blame him. The last thing I need now is a man from God knows where calling us witches and telling Sir Alan he’s been brought here by magic herbs. Sir Alan will run screaming from the castle before we even say hello. Clan Kerr must look worthy of his investment. And that means I need to hide the truth from him for at least the next twenty-four hours.”

  “I assume Rosston is still unaware of the shortfall?”

  “Yes. And I should very much like to keep it that way.”

  “He willna hear it from me,” Undine said. “Rosston does not care for me. He’s kept his distance ever since I told him I put an impotence spell on the chief of Clan Armstrong.”

  “Did you?”

  “Abby, the man’s three score and eight. A sharp look will do it.”

  Abby laughed, and the lilting string of notes rose through Duncan’s head like bubbles in champagne.

  “The question remains,” Abby said, “how do I send our unexpected visitor home?”

  “The text is not quite clear on the point,” Undine said after a pause. “It only says that one called to
serve must actually serve before the spell can be broken.”

  “And ‘broken’ means he’ll go back?”

  “That is the part that is unclear.”

  Duncan opened his eyes. Grendel, it seemed, was a handsome wolfhound of gray and white with a long, slim nose and watchful eyes. Abby—at least what Duncan could see of her at this angle, which was one muddied boot tapping absently on an ancient rug about ten feet from him—seemed to be wrestling with a decision. Duncan wondered briefly why, if there was a rug available, he was lying on bare stone.

  After a moment, Abby let out a resigned sigh. “Fine. He can stay. God help me. A clodhead with a wooden sword to keep fed and clothed. Well, if nothing else, I suppose he could help the swineherds.”

  Help the swineherds? A man who managed a platoon of bond traders, advised the CFOs of Fortune 500 companies, and lived in a doorman building in Manhattan’s Financial District dragging pigs through the mud? Not. Bloody. Likely.

  Abby added, “But I’ll be depending on you to keep him out of sight.”

  Duncan opened his mouth, but his protest was drowned out by Abby’s cry as she lowered herself into the gilded chair and jumped up again.

  “What is it?” Undine said.

  “Chastity threw me today on the field. I feel like someone has turned me over his knee and walloped me bare-assed. Can you look at it?”

  Duncan froze. The top of a gilt-legged table blocked his view of Abby’s unfortunate condition. He struggled to an elbow to see if that would correct the situation, and Grendel let out a low growl. Seeing his view had not improved, Duncan reached for the table leg. Grendel unleashed a string of barks so fierce Duncan felt like M-80s were going off behind his eyes.

  “Grendel!” Abby shouted.

  Grendel froze and so did Duncan, and it was only when Duncan returned his arm to his side that the dog stretched out again and relaxed.

  “Thanks,” Duncan mouthed to the dog. The dog made a whimper of regret and licked Duncan’s nose. Duncan heard the rustle of fabric being raised.

  “It’s bad,” Undine said. “One cheek is fine and pink, but the other will be as purple as bilberry jam by nightfall. I’ll make you a poultice. That will help with the swelling. But for now, how about a goblet of wine?”

  Abby sighed. “That would be lovely.”

  Duncan couldn’t help but imagine that fine pink cheek, sitting like a perfect teardrop over a slim and willing thigh…

  A knock brought Grendel to his feet again, this time barking happily.

  “There’s my good dog,” said a third woman, leaning down to pat him.

  She was slim and pretty, though not as pretty as Abby, with hair as bright red as Duncan’s.

  The woman said to Grendel, “We got to be great friends while we were waiting for your mama to return, didn’t we?”

  “Oh, dear,” Abby said. “I’m so sorry, Miss—Oh, forgive me. Now I have forgotten your name. I know you told me outside.”

  “Miss Fallon. Serafina Fallon. Pray don’t let it trouble you. We barely spoke before you were called off.”

  Abby’s shoulders sagged. “Between the English and, well, other matters, today has not been the best of days. Did my servants take care of you while you were waiting?”

  “Aye, they were quite attentive. I’m glad you are well. I understand the confrontation with the English was brief, thank God. If you’d like, I can return another time.”

  “No, no,” Abby said, “we are most pleased to have you. And once things settle down, I am certain Undine shall be glad to help you in any way she can.”

  “I thank you,” Miss Fallon said. “Oh! Who is this?”

  The attention of the room turned to Duncan.

  “Him?” Abby said disinterestedly. “He’s my swinehe—”

  “Prisoner,” Duncan said, though the explosion of sound in his head when he spoke made him wince.

  Abby marched over and crouched beside him, waiting until she saw his eyes focus on her. “You are not my prisoner,” she said sharply. “If you were, I would hardly leave my door unbolted so that you could go.” She stuck her finger pointedly in the direction of the room’s looming entrance, violet-blue eyes ablaze.

  Duncan looked beyond the doors, down the long gallery filled with centuries-old furniture and sconces filled with real candles. He shook his head. The floor might be cold, but the outside world—with shots flying, a sea of faces he didn’t recognize, and no way to return to the world he knew—seemed even less inviting.

  Abby made a grunt of satisfaction. “Then perhaps you’ll want to tell Miss Fallon who you are.”

  Her eyes burned into him, the threat of expulsion clear, but he’d be damned if he’d say he was a swineherd. He pressed his mouth tight.

  Abby growled and stood. “He’s my swineher—”

  “Adviser,” Duncan said more loudly.

  Miss Fallon looked at Abby. Abby looked at Undine, who shrugged.

  “He’s my swineherd adviser,” Abby said with tight lips. “He advises me about swine.”

  “Oh.”

  It was clear Miss Fallon had not heard of swineherd advisers.

  Abby put a hand on her forehead and exhaled slowly. “Oh, for God’s sake, it’s too ridiculous for even me to believe. He’s neither my swineherd nor adviser. But he has come quite recently into my charge, much to my regret, and I fear he will throw a turnscrew into my plans, something I cannot afford. We have a very important visitor coming.”

  Duncan pulled himself unsteadily to sitting. He felt like a sailor after three days of drunken shore leave. The three women—one dark, one fiery haired, and one blond—watched him as if they were watching the raising of a particularly ugly shipwreck. Grendel paced over and looked him in the eyes. He had a penetrating gaze for a dog.

  Miss Fallon stepped closer and looked Duncan over carefully. Grendel wagged his tail. After a moment, the woman made a small sound of disappointment, and Grendel stopped.

  “He’s very handsome,” Miss Fallon said, “but I’m afraid he won’t answer my needs. The coloring is a problem, you see, as is his height. The man I seek must be shorter. Those additional inches will do me no good.”

  “Most women prefer tall men,” he said, a little put out.

  “Miss Fallon is looking for a husband,” Undine explained, an amused smile on her face. “But only for a night. ’Tis rather a shame, when you think about it. As a turnscrew, it seems you would be perfectly suited.”

  Heat flew up Duncan’s cheeks. He was hardly a prude, but, for God’s sake, what sort of Amazonian love prison had he fallen into?

  “Am I interrupting?”

  A princely man with dark hair and arms the size of coffee cans stood in the entryway. It was the same man who had found Abby in the woods and witnessed her assault on Duncan. Duncan didn’t like the way the women’s heads turned, though he noted with some satisfaction that Grendel stayed with him.

  “No,” Abby said. “Do you have word of William?”

  “The wound is clean and bound. The surgeon says he will be well again in time. I gave the man three shillings.”

  “Thank you,” Abby said stiffly. “I would have paid him myself had I known.”

  “’Twas no hardship, milady. By the way, your servant mentioned something about Sir Alan Raeburn’s imminent arrival. I was not aware he was coming.”

  “I do not clear my visitors with you or anyone, Rosston.”

  “No, of course not, milady.” He took a step toward Abby in the silence that followed, but evidently changed his mind and stopped. “Is the man a spy?”

  “Sir Alan? Don’t be absurd.”

  “I don’t mean Sir Alan,” Rosston said with forced patience. “I am quite familiar with his position at the Bank of Scotland. I meant him.” He ducked his head toward Duncan.

  “What? No.” Abby shook
her head, distracted. “I was mistaken. The sum of what the man knows wouldn’t get you a ha’penny in the deepest bowels of Whitehall.”

  Rosston waited. “Then he is…?”

  “Him?” Abby said, apparently realizing an answer must be given. “That man there?” Panic rose in her eyes.

  “Aye,” Rosston said. “If he’s not a spy, what was the idiot doing in the middle of Kerr land?”

  Rosston had said “Kerr land” as if the “Kerr” involved had been him, and Duncan could see Abby had noticed it too. Duncan hadn’t liked the man from the first, and his dislike was only growing. With a bit of unsteady maneuvering, he got his feet beneath him. Let the man call him “idiot” to his face.

  “Abby?” Rosston said.

  Abby jabbed her thumb toward Miss Fallon. “Why, he’s her…her…”

  “Her what?”

  “Swineherd.”

  “Cousin.”

  “Husband.”

  “Adviser.”

  Rosston gazed narrowly at the four suddenly impenetrable faces. “I beg your pardon?”

  Undine put down her wine. “He’s her swineherd cousin’s husband’s adviser. Upon my word, Rosston. Pay attention. Miss Fallon brought him here to Langholm, and I think we would do ourselves and Miss Fallon a great service if we endeavored to keep that in mind.”

  Rosston scanned the room slowly, stopping for a long moment on Duncan’s graceless ascent to his knees before returning to Abby. He made a courtly bow to Miss Fallon. “My apologies. I assume, then, Miss Fallon and her, er, associate will be joining us for supper?”

  “I do not have time to trifle with a meal this evening,” Abby said. “If you’re hungry, please ask Mrs. Michaels to fix something for you. I’m sure there’s more than enough left over from the festivities. I intend to review the paperwork for Sir Alan and go to bed.”

  “I pray you do not have much to review, milady. Sir Alan was spotted in town less than a quarter hour ago. He will be at Castle Kerr quite soon.”