by Amy Jarecki
Christina stood.
“Hold your wheesht,” Hamish growled and snatched her hand, pulling her back. “Ye mustna interfere, m’lady.”
She clamped her teeth so hard, her jaw hurt.
Please son, please. Bend just a wee bit.
“Forgive my impertinence,” Andrew sobbed, a tear streaming down his face.
Lachlan immediately drew the knife away, but continued to hold his grip. “Here are the rules: You will be respectful of your mother while enjoying her hospitality. You will be respectful of Clan de Moray at all times. Please and thank you will become your favorite words. You will report to me for lessons every morning. You will call me sir…is that clear?”
“Yes,” Andrew whispered.
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You will do your mother’s bidding come afternoon and if there is time after that, I will allow you to impart your vast knowledge of horsemanship.” Lachlan said vast with a mocking edge in his voice. “Do you understand?”
Andrew shook his head.
“I can’t hear you.”
“Yes, sir.”
Lachlan beckoned Andrew’s guard. “Kiss your mother goodnight and head for your bed because come morning you’re going to need your rest.” Finally, he released his grip.
Andrew stood and looked up the dais steps.
Lachlan gave him a pat on the shoulder “Go on, then.”
“Come on, come on,” Hamish whispered.
Everyone in the hall stood motionless, as if they were all willing the lad to move forward.
Hanging his head, Andrew climbed the stairs and gave Christina a wee peck on the cheek.
She brushed his mop of hair away from his face. “Sleep well, my son.” Then she focused a heated gaze upon Lachlan.
Chapter Eighteen
“I will meet with ye in my solar forthwith,” Christina said as she swished past Lachlan in a whoosh of skirts.
He gulped. He should have known she’d be madder than a badger. But the boy needed a lesson. Ducking his head, Lachlan followed the lady up the narrow stairwell. He’d already hit his head three times and he hadn’t even slept at Ormond yet. He wondered what his father would have done. Not Bill Wallace, decorated war hero of the twenty-first century, but William Wallace, the man supposedly his father. Scotland’s hero had been every bit as tall. He must have had difficulty negotiating doorways and narrow stairwells. If only Lachlan could have traveled back a bit further in time, he might have been able to see William in action.
That would have been unbelievable.
But the forces behind the medallion saw fit to send him to Lady Christina to help her son…now Lachlan needed to figure out how to convince the woman that his tactics had been a necessary step. After he followed her into the solar, she faced him, her blue eyes blazing like hellfire.
Something wobbled in Lachlan’s knees. Dear God, now was no time for his heart to race. He had a goddamned argument to make. He set his jaw and gave her a defiant stare of his own.
“That was my son down there ye made to look like a fool. Bless it, he could have been hurt.”
“Okay. I’ll admit I caused him mild pain, but never once did I allow him to be injured.”
“Ye threatened to carve out his tongue!”
“Well, there’s that, I suppose, but isn’t that the type of thing that’s done in the Middle Ages?” Honestly, he’d been afraid the tongue carving part was over the top, but she’d told him about flaying people alive. Jesus Christ, that had to be far worse.
Christina threw up her hands. “Och, ye are insufferable. It’s bad enough the lad sounds like an Englishman. And now ye’ve gone and humiliated him in front of the clan.”
“Not before he insulted you, the entire clan and me. Tell me, what did you expect next? The entire clan to run up to the dais and give him hugs?”
“I wanted him to realize how ridiculous he sounded.”
“Right. It’s kinda hard to prove that to a teenager who, since he was an infant, was taught to hate everything about his heritage. He thinks he knows good from bad, right from wrong. He thinks he’s smarter than we are. Worse, he’s adopted the insidious English snobbery that irritates the heck out of me even in my century.”
She regarded him for a moment, her features softening. She had to know he was right, she couldn’t be that blind.
“The clansmen and women needed to know that no matter what we will not—” Lachlan held up his palms. “Let me rephrase—you will not allow a child to run roughshod over you.”
Groaning, she looked to the ceiling with its white relief swirling like damask. “What’s done is done. But I doubt Andrew will be able to weather many scenes like the shame ye presented him with this eve.”
Lachlan nodded. “I agree.”
Her eyes brightened. “Ye do?”
The corners of his mouth turned up. “Of course I do.” Reaching out, he placed his hand on her shoulder with a reassuring squeeze. “You call the shots for the most part—aside from a few things.”
“Such as?”
“I have complete say over his physical training—weapons, fists, self-defense and exercise regime.”
“Can ye promise me he willna be injured?”
“I can promise I will do everything to see to his safety, though a man can’t climb down your stairwell without risking his neck.”
“Verra well.” She didn’t laugh at his jibe. “And I want his full attention in the afternoon. Afore the meal, I spoke to a cleric who has agreed to give him lessons in Latin.”
“Excellent.”
She grinned. “And I want him to enjoy Christmas ever so much.”
Lachlan huffed a sigh—jeez, he didn’t want her to get her hopes up too high. “That could be stretching things a bit.”
She traced her finger around the crest embroidered on Lachlan’s surcoat. The sensation made electricity fire across his skin. Then she had to meet his gaze with a set of hypnotic blues—blues the color of the aqua water surrounding Iona’s white-sand beaches. “I will make this a Christmas to remember, no matter what Andrew thinks. He might even pooh-pooh the whole ordeal, but the spirit will touch his heart. And once touched, it will worm its way around and around until Andrew sees the truth.”
Her fingers continued to lightly brush over the de Moray coat of arms on his chest until Lachlan could take no more. He grasped her hand and brought it to his lips but only for a brief peck. “Let’s continue these talks. I’m now convinced I am here to help your son realize his place.”
As her eyes shifted, disappointment flashed through them. “Are ye certain?”
“Nearly. Why else didn’t I end up back in my own century after I rescued him from Norham?”
“Do ye not like it here?”
Lachlan twisted his mouth. Never in his life had he considered traveling through time, but now that he was there, he’d begun to find his way, adapt a bit more—at least for now. “Unfortunately, I left my life in a shambles and I need to go home to put the pieces back together.”
Christina’s eyebrows drew together. “Go back to the woman who left ye?”
“Well, go back to ensure Angela doesn’t take everything I own.”
“A cuckold has the power to do that in your time?”
His shoulders sagged. “Divorce can get ugly and, yes, she’s entitled to half of everything I own.”
“That is so strange. Such a woman should be stoned or hanged or tortured, or—”
“And you’re upset that I showed Andrew exactly how much he has to learn?” A low chuckle rumbled in Lachlan’s chest as he pulled Christina into his embrace and kissed the top of her head. “We’re not so different you and I.”
“Dunna say that.”
“Why?”
“’Cause the longer ye stay, the more difficult it will be to see ye go.” She pulled out of his arms, blinking rapidly, a quivering smile plastered in place. “Besides, I need a champion like ye. Hamish is too old.”
/> Lachlan’s heart sank. Something in his alpha-male heart wanted to hear her ask him to stay—not because he could be her champion, but because she wanted, she needed him as a man. He clenched his fists to keep himself from reaching out to her. Who was he fooling anyway? Did he have any control over the medallion? It had sent him to her without any forethought on Lachlan’s part. Even if he chose to stay, would he be allowed to do so?
Ironically, he was a lost soul with ties in both centuries, now he knew the truth. Not even his mother had a claim to that kind of birthright. And how had she contacted him? He had so many damned questions and no place to find the answers.
Turning, Christina strode toward the hearth. “I still canna believe it.”
“What?”
“That ye came to me from a different time.”
He stepped toward her. “Even though I don’t talk like you? Even though I can fight like a banshee, yet am hopeless on the back of a horse?”
“That is rather odd, I will admit.” She reached up and tugged on the medallion’s thong, until she held the bronze disk in her hand. Thoughtfully, she studied the front and back. “Are ye following the beacon of truth?”
“I like to think I am. My mum always taught that the truth will set you free.”
“Did she now?”
“Mm hmm.” Lachlan brushed the pad of his pointer finger over her cheek’s silken skin. “But she kept one truth hidden from me until very recently.”
“What was that?”
He gulped. “You know the truth thing on the medallion?”
“Aye.”
“Well, if that’s my rallying cry, then it will mean the world to me if you trust that I’m not lying.”
She let the disk drop back to his chest. “Ye can tell me anything, I’d reckon.”
He needed to tell her the truth. “My father is—was William Wallace.”
She took in a sharp breath. “I kent it.”
“You did?”
“Aye, Sir Boyd and I both agreed neither of us had seen a man fight with your valor since William passed. And ye look more like him than ye do Eva.” She started for the door. “Dunna think for a moment ye dunna belong in this time, ’cause ye do.”
Lachlan grabbed her wrist and stopped her. Her lips sparkled ruby with the flames from the hearth. God, he wanted to kiss them, to pull her into his arms and crush her pillow-soft breasts against his chest and devour her. If only he could run his hands up and down her spine, sink his fingers into her sexy bum—but it wouldn’t be fair. To either of them.
He watched her slip out the door.
***
The days passed so quickly, Christina hardly had a moment to herself. And her son tested her at every turn. On top of that, every time she turned around, she saw Lachlan. Lachlan teaching Andrew to spar. Lachlan in the hall during meals. Lachlan singing with the minstrels—dear Lord, his bass voice sent a lively sparkle throughout her insides. How that man could continually turn her head, she couldn’t fathom. Of course, she knew he wasn’t a sorcerer, but he may as well have been one because he’d vexed her so.
When she and Ellen returned from clipping evergreens with two guardsmen wheeling barrows behind them, Lachlan and Andrew were in the exercise arena practicing horsemanship. She would have missed them if she hadn’t looked through a gap in the hedge.
Aye that man has me vexed for certain.
Christina stopped and grasped Ellen by the arm.
“What is it, m’lady?”
“Wheesht.” From their vantage point, they wouldn’t be noticed. Christina lowered her voice. “Ye and the guards take the clippings into the hall. I want to watch my son.
“Aye?” whispered Ellen, waggling her eyebrows. “I reckon watching his student would be far more entertaining.”
Christina feigned a gasp. “Ye are shameless.”
“Nay, I am observant.” Ellen beckoned the guardsmen. “Come along and leave her ladyship to her spying.”
Christina painted on her most matronly smile while Ellen led the men and the barrows away. “I’ll follow shortly to direct the greening.” Then she turned her attention to the exercise arena. Lachlan cantered the gelding through the center of the arena with the right front forward.
“Change,” Andrew shouted and Lachlan switched position of his stirrups with quite a bit of effort, but managed to get the horse to change to a left lead.
Imagine that. A valiant knight who is a novice equestrian. He didna lie about that, now did he?
The more she came to know Lachlan, the more curious he became.
How could such an accomplished man know so little about horses? Truly?
After riding around the arena using the right lead, then back the other way, using the left, Andrew bade Lachlan to stop, walked straight up to the gelding and probed the beast in the flank with his crop. Andrew skittered out of the way just as the poor animal kicked and bucked, vaulting down the paddock until he unseated his mount.
“Whooooooa,” Lachlan bellowed, landing in the dirt on his bum. He sat there a moment and shook his head. “What the hell happened?”
Her son merely shrugged.
Clenching her fists, Christina started toward them. Blast it all, the lad had best assume some respect before she completely lost her composure.
Lachlan hopped to his feet and brushed off his backside. Sauntering toward the trickster, he shook his finger. “You poked him. I saw it out of the corner of my eye.”
“Ha.” Andrew took a step back. “Ye must be able to bring a wily beast under control. When in battle or in the midst of the crowd, your mount could be frightened by any manner of things.”
Christina stopped in her tracks. The lad actually made sense.
“All right.” Lachlan swatted him on the shoulder. “So tell me, what should I have done in that situation?”
“Allow me to show ye.” Andrew took the reins and climbed onto the gelding. “A horse is not much use when his hindquarter is disengaged.” He moved his heel back. “Do not kick your mount in the flank. If ye do, ye shall end up on your backside every time. Still, ye must take charge.”
Crossing his arms, Lachlan nodded.
“Slide one hand down the rein and pull the gelding’s head toward your knee.” He demonstrated by bringing the horse’s head to the side. “Remember, if ye control the head, ye control the beast.” Then he made the horse walk in circles by maintaining his grip on the rein and tapping his heels.
Christina wanted to applaud. For the first time in her life, she watched her son actually be helpful—he was an accomplished horseman and he could impart his knowledge to her champion. Lachlan was absolutely right. He had been sent to her to help bring the lad around. Thank heavens for Lachlan and horses. And thank heavens for Christmas. Without a moment’s hesitation, she raced for the keep. Andrew may be acting like a malcontented youth, but he would be shown love and respect this Yule, whether he desired it or not.
Chapter Nineteen
After stabling the horse, Lachlan walked across the courtyard with Andrew. Over the past few days, they hadn’t exactly built up comradery, but at least they were on civil speaking terms. Earlier, he’d shrugged off the stunt Andrew had pulled with poking the horse in the flank. Still, he didn’t know if he could trust the kid. And he had to keep reminding himself not to rush things.
“So what’s your favorite breed of horse?” Lachlan asked. It was always safe to talk about horses or weapons with Andrew. Anything else was a crapshoot.
“Ye mean a type?” The lad grinned—holy hell, that was a first. “A destrier for certain.”
Lachlan noted that medieval folk didn’t yet use the term “breed” for a horse type. “Not a galloway like your mum rides?” Lachlan hardly knew modern breeds or types like thoroughbreds and quarter horses, but a destrier? What the hell?
“No chance. I’d not allow myself to be seen on a pony if I had my druthers. A destrier is a knight’s horse, but…” The lad hung his head and kicked a stone.
&nbs
p; “But?”
“They are dear. A squire could never afford one—even a knight must earn many a purse afore he can hope to buy such a mount.”
“A destrier, you say?” Lachlan tapped his chin with his forefinger. “They must be big-boned to support a knight in full mail.”
Andrew looked truly interested. His posture even straightened. “They are—the largest warhorses of the lot.”
“So when a knight can’t afford a destrier, what sort of horse does he ride?”
“A palfrey would me my second choice.”
“A palfrey?” Lachlan pulled open the door to the great hall. He had heard nothing of these types.
Andrew stepped through. “Of course,” he said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
Hit with the pleasant aroma of freshly cut pine, Lachlan stopped in the entryway of the great hall. “Smells like Christmas.”
Lady Christina turned from where she was directing a man up a ladder. “How was the riding lesson?”
Lachlan rubbed his backside. “Only got thrown once.”
Taking on a sudden case of disinterest, Andrew headed for the stairwell.
“A moment.” Christina hastened toward him. “I’ve arranged for your Latin lessons to commence on the morrow.”
“Latin?”
“Aye, all noblemen should be familiar with Latin at the very least.”
Lachlan didn’t miss Andrew’s eye-rolling look of disgust. “But why? I hate books. I hate reading and writing.”
“Noblemen oft write in Latin,” Christina explained. “If their missives are stolen by outlaws, it is less likely for them to understand the contents.”
Lachlan moved in, holding up a finger. “Your mother has a good point.”
Andrew glared at him as if he’d suddenly grown two heads. “Why do ye always have to take her side?”
“I what?” Lachlan moved his hands to his hips. “Sure, you love horses and weapons, but there’s a whole lot more to life.”
“Well, it’s not in books.”
Jeez, the kid couldn’t be more mistaken.
“There must be a million poverty-stricken children out there who would do anything to learn to read, let alone learn Latin.”
