The Time Traveler's Christmas (Guardian of Scotland Book 3)

by Amy Jarecki

  “Well then find some street urchin to take my place.” Andrew whipped around and dashed up the stairwell, his footsteps echoing.

  Christina’s shoulders sagged. “I thought he’d be thrilled.”

  Fed up, Lachlan returned his attention to the greening—goodness, Christina took her Christmas decorations seriously. “I don’t think Andrew has the capacity to be thrilled about anything. If you’d like I could take the lessons with him.”

  “Ye could, but I’d prefer to see him give Father Sinclair a chance. Ye’re already doing far more for the lad than anyone should ask.”

  “I don’t mind. He’s growing on me.”

  “Are ye serious?”

  “Well, if he’d learn to smile and stop being a priggish bastard toward you, I might enjoy being around him.”

  She chuckled, drawing her hand to her forehead. “I have no idea how we shall endure the next year.”

  “As I said, take it one day at a time.” Lachlan looked from the walls to the rafters. “Holy smokes, when you said you were planning to green the castle, you decided to go all out.”

  “’Tis our way of bringing spring inside until the end of winter.”

  “I like it.” He grinned. “And where are you planning to put the tree?”

  Her eyebrows knit together. “I beg your pardon?”

  “The Christmas tree.”

  Her ladyship gave him a panicked stare as if she’d never heard of such a thing.

  She probably never has.

  “In my time everyone greens their homes, but the centerpiece is a tree that is decorated with garlands.” Lachlan tried to describe it in terms she would understand. “We trim it with ornaments like balls and ribbons and bows.”

  “Oooo.” She drummed her fingers against her lips. “That sounds lovely.”

  “I think so. And we put gifts under the tree.”

  “Gifts?”

  “Yes, we wrap them in paper and then open them on Christmas morn.”

  “For the entire clan?”

  He chuckled—jeez, that would be pricey to say the least. “Well, people pretty much live in their own homes and gift giving is restricted to the immediate family and maybe a few close friends.”

  She smacked her lips as if considering. “I see. The de Moray clan partakes in a grand feast and we give our people nutmeats and bread baked with sweet fruits. ’Tis everyone’s favorite feast day.”

  “Mm, I can smell the baking already.” He flicked the pine branch in her hand. “If you could have anything you wanted what would you like for Christmas, m’lady?”

  She heaved a big sigh. “My son to be content.”

  “Unfortunately, that’s something I can’t give.”

  “Hmm.” She waved her branch toward the dais. “Mayhap introducing a new tradition might be worthwhile. I think the hall would look grand with a festooned tree.”

  “And the presents?”

  “Perhaps we could do something for Andrew above stairs in my chamber. ’Tis quite homey up there.”

  Lachlan gave her a wink. “I think I know the perfect gift for him.”

  She shook her bough, her eyes shining with her mischievous grin. “Oh please, do tell.”

  “Have you heard of a destrier horse?”

  She dropped her hands to her sides. “He wants a warhorse?”

  “Well, he does want to become a knight.”

  “Holy snapdragons. We have plenty of garrons and galloways, but a destrier?” She bit her thumbnail. “Let me put some thought into it. Heavens, a warhorse? Perhaps I should rethink gift giving in my chamber. We’ll have to take him outside whilst it’s still light—afore the feast.”

  ***

  Andrew relished the feel of the iron weave in his hand as he sparred with Sir Lachlan. The big man had taught him a great deal already and he reckoned the squires back at de Vere’s castle would be impressed. When he returned, he’d be promoted to the top of the ranks and made a knight as soon as he reached his majority.

  He might have to endure a year of hell at this dank outpost, but at least he would gain in strength and skill. Watching Sir Lachlan spar with the other guards had made Andrew realize the knight’s true talent, though how he could have ridden in the tourney circuit on the continent was a quandary. He couldn’t handle a horse worth beans. Regardless, the man could fight with the strength of ten warriors and Andrew wanted to learn everything he could. If he could match that kind of prowess with his horse skills, he’d be unbeatable, and invaluable to Lord de Vere.

  Just when Andrew thought he was gaining the upper hand with a thrust to Sir Lachlan’s right hip, his damned mother came into the courtyard.

  “Father Sinclair his waiting in the solar for your lesson.”

  Why did she always have to make things miserable? “Can ye not see I’m still in the midst of my lesson with Sir Lachlan?”

  “No.” The big knight grabbed Andrew’s wrist and disarmed him faster than he could blink. Dammit, how did he do that so quickly? Andrew didn’t even have a chance to set up a counter maneuver.

  He looked at Lachlan and gritted his teeth. “I said I do not want to learn Latin.”

  “How do you know if you haven’t tried?”

  “I just do.”

  “Not an answer. Until you can provide me with a rational explanation of why learning Latin would not behoove a young man of your stature, you have no choice but to comply with your mother’s desires.”

  Taking mother’s side again. “What if I refuse to learn?”

  “Then you are more foolish than I initially thought.”

  “Blast it all. Ye are as horrible as she!” With that, he made a show of stomping off toward the second floor solar.

  Mother’s footsteps clapped the stone steps behind, but Andrew didn’t wait for her. The sooner he got this damned Latin lesson over, the sooner he’d be free to take Sir Lachlan to the riding arena and put him on an untrained colt.

  Bursting through the door, Andrew came to an immediate stop.

  “Hello,” said a cleric with grey streaks through his brown hair. But Andrew wasn’t looking at him. A redheaded lass with striking blue eyes smiled from across the board. Holy smokes, she was lovely.

  The cleric pushed himself to his feet. “I hope ye dunna mind I brought my ward, Aileen. She’s been awfully keen to learn Latin and I hoped ye would enjoy having a study partner.”

  Aileen waved, her smile lighting up the entire chamber. “Good afternoon.”

  “Ah…” Andrew wanted to turn and run, but his legs wouldn’t move.

  “There ye are,” said Ma, coming up from behind. “Has Father Sinclair already made the introductions?”

  For the first time, Andrew didn’t resent his mother’s presence. He gave her a sharp nod and slid into the chair beside the lass. “Yes, thank ye.” The corner of his mouth quirked as he looked Aileen in the eye. “So why do ye want to learn Latin?”

  “’Cause ’tis the language of our Lord.” Then she turned a brilliant shade of pink and lowered her gaze. “Besides, nary a lass like me would gain a chance to learn reading and languages if it werena for the kindness of Father Sinclair.”

  The tutor shook out his black robes and resumed his seat. “Shall we begin? I’d like to start by scribing the alphabet.” He slid two pieces of vellum toward them, the inkwell was already set in the center of the table with three quills.

  Aileen snatched one. “This is going to be so fun.”

  Andrew took a quill of his own. “Perhaps it will be.”

  Thankfully, Mother quietly slipped out the door, closing it behind her.

  Chapter Twenty

  A good four inches of snow had fallen last night. The slushy stuff seeped into his boots while Lachlan led Andrew through the wood, searching for the perfect tree. He’d seen men rubbing their boots with whale oil. Now he knew why.

  The boy followed with a two-man saw tucked under his elbow. They both wore their sword belts because Hamish had warned them the only place anyone w
as safe was behind the curtain walls. Lachlan was growing used to being armed to the teeth at all times. He even liked the danger. Sure, he could be attacked at any time back home, but the likelihood was far slimmer and men generally didn’t walk around laden with dirks, swords and knives. Here, the de Moray guard patrolled the curtain walls around the clock and twice daily a retinue rode out to patrol the grounds, especially now that Andrew was there. Christina feared invasion. She’d been a prisoner too long not to constantly worry about another attack by the English.

  Lachlan wished he’d spent more time listening to his mother’s stories. He’d like to reassure Christina, but couldn’t remember anything about the de Moray family, except they eventually earn an earldom and a dukedom, and the name changes with some taking Moray and others Murray…he thought.

  A lot of good it would do to tell her.

  “Have ye not found a good enough tree yet?” Andrew asked.

  Lachlan hadn’t been looking very hard, but he glanced back at the lad. “We want a symmetrical one that will look nice festooned with decorations.”

  “Sounds daft to me.”

  “It will smell marvelous and the lassies will think it’s beautiful.”

  “Truly?” the lad asked with a bit of interest in his voice.

  “Indeed. All women love to decorate things for the holidays.”

  “Hmm.” Tapping him on the shoulder, Andrew pointed. “What about that one?”

  Lachlan followed the finger’s direction and grinned. He thwacked the boy on the shoulder. “I knew you were the right person for this task. That Scots pine is perfect.” At least it was as close as they were going to get. Most of the evergreens were tall and spindly. This young arbor stood about six feet and was mostly A-shaped. It was thick with long needles, as well.

  “We need to cut it off at the base,” Lachlan said.

  “Then we’d best sit.”

  Having never used a two-man saw, Lachlan followed suit. Ice cold, wet snow immediately soaked through his chausses—a pair of snow pants would have come in handy for certain. “What should we give your mother for Christmas?”

  “Huh?” Andrew asked, leaning back and drawing the saw toward him. “What are ye jabbering about now?”

  “We should give her a present.”

  “Right, give the woman who is forcing me to remain in this frigid wilderness and study Latin a gift.”

  “She loves you and this frigid wilderness will all be yours one day.” Unless the boy throws it away on a pipedream. Lachlan worked the saw faster with the increase of his irritation. “Now, I want the next thing to come out of your mouth to be positive. What. Shall. We. Give. Your. Mother?”

  Andrew knitted his eyebrows. “Bloody hell, ye do not have to sound so angry about it.”

  “That wasn’t positive.”

  “Very well, go to the smithy. Blacksmiths always have fancy bobbles tucked away to bring in a few crowns here and there.”

  A blacksmith? Who would have known? “Do you want to go with me?”

  Andrew smirked. “Latin lesson.”

  “Okay, then you’ll have to trust my judgement.”

  “Select whatever ye want. I do not care.”

  “That’s sad, because your mum cares very much about you.”

  ***

  Christina inspected the table, laid out with ribbons and baubles she and Ellen had collected for the tree. With her duties of running the keep and Lachlan’s seemingly endless training, there hadn’t been much time to ask questions, so she’d done her best to find suitable trinkets. Goodness, she was excited to bring a new Yule tradition into the castle and thrilled that Andrew had gone with Lachlan to select the pine. It would look magnificent on the dais behind the high table for all the clan to enjoy. She just knew it.

  Even with Andrew’s reluctance to take his place in the clan, Christina couldn’t help but be excited. For the first time in thirteen years, she would no longer be a prisoner during Yuletide. She prayed every day Andrew would grow to love her or at least grow to love the castle and clan. When he wasn’t trying to be a curmudgeon, she saw such strength in the lad.

  And the Christmas feast was only three days away.

  Ellen stepped beside her and rubbed her hands. “I think all we need now is the tree.”

  Christina glanced toward the door. “I hope the snow didna hamper the lads.”

  “Och, they’re hewn of Highland stock the pair of them.”

  The words had barely escaped Ellen’s lips when Sir Lachlan and Andrew burst though the hall doors carrying a glorious pine. Grinning like an excited young maiden, Christina gestured to the stand the smithy had fashioned. “Put it there, lads.”

  Lachlan led the way. “Andrew selected a fine tree for you, m’lady.”

  They set it into the stand and Lachlan tightened the bolts. Stepping back, he whistled. “She’s a beauty.”

  “Oh my,” said Ellen. “’Tis so tall, it is like bringing the forest into the hall.”

  Christina gestured to the decorations. “I hope we’ve collected enough to trim the tree like ye said.”

  “Look there, Andrew. Your mum thought of everything.” The big knight drummed his fingers against his lips. “Except we need a star or an angel for the top.”

  Gasping, Christina shot a panicked look to Ellen. “A star or an angel for the top? Will it not fall?”

  “We’ll trim the top bough just enough so it stays in place.”

  “We could use the angel trumpeter figurine from your mantel, m’lady,” said Ellen. “Shall I go fetch it?”

  “Aye.” Christina clapped. “Please do.”

  Clifton, the clan’s Celtic harpist, began to play lyrical music to help set the scene.

  She surveyed the collection of decorations. “This is your idea, Sir Lachlan. How should we proceed?”

  “First, we string the garlands and ribbons, then we hang the baubles and ornaments from the branches.” He looked to Andrew. “What should we start with?”

  With his typical shrug, the lad selected a string of brass beads. “Will these work?”

  “Sure. Just wrap them around like this.” Picking up a red ribbon, Lachlan demonstrated unrolling it around the upper branches of the pine—up where only he’d be able to reach. Then he glanced to the lad. “Ready to give it a try?”

  Rolling his eyes, Andrew complied while Christina selected another roll of ribbon. If only her son could find some enjoyment in doing anything with her. She’d endured so many of his eye-rolls and shrugs, she could scream. But such an outburst was inappropriate behavior for the lady of the keep and she refused to allow herself to fly off on a tirade. Besides, a temper tantrum on her part would only serve to further distance her from Andrew.

  And ’tis Yuletide for heaven’s sake.

  Lachlan reached out to her to draw the ribbon around the tree, while he hummed with the harp music. She couldn’t help but chuckle the way he made the music flit around her insides like happy butterflies.

  She glanced at Andrew who was looking over the selection on the table. “Have ye learned to play any instruments?”

  His lips thinned and his eyes narrowed. “As ye haven’t allowed me to forget, I was a prisoner. I rarely took my meals in the hall, let alone was offered tutoring in anything but English.”

  “Ah, but anyone can sing,” said Lachlan, draping a gold ribbon over a branch, then handing the reel to Christina.

  “I do not care for singing.”

  Of course, he doesn’t care to do anything that will bring him joy.

  Things went quiet while the air grew tense. All three of them worked, mechanically adding ornaments as Christina’s mind raced for something she could say to make Andrew happy. Then an idea sparked. “Would ye like to learn to play the bagpipes? The king has decided pipers will play during all battles and royal gatherings.”

  A glass ball dropped from Andrew’s fingers and smashed to pieces on the floorboards. “Robert Bruce is not a real king. Lord de Vere will lead an army in
to Scotland and he’ll kill anyone who does not bow to King Edward.”

  It was as if she’d been slapped in the face. If Christina had heard such treasonous words uttered from one of her clansmen, she would not hesitate to throw them into the pit and arrange their hanging. “Please.” She reached out to him. “Do ye want de Vere to come to your home and lay siege? To imprison ye for another three and ten years?”

  He batted her hand away. “This is not my home. Can ye not understand? I have no memory of this place.” Turning, he ran for the stairwell.

  “Andrew!” Christina started after him, tears welling in her eyes.

  Lachlan gripped her shoulder. “Let him go.”

  Her throat closed. The room spun. Whipping around, she slammed her fists into the wall of Lachlan’s chest. “He hates me.” Dammit, she could hold in her anguish no longer. With a shrill cry, Christina crumpled. Her entire life had been for naught. For so many years, the only thing that had kept her going was the hope that her son would one day be returned to her. Clan de Moray had fought beside Robert the Bruce and incurred heavy losses to bring Andrew back to Ormond, but nothing she did would ever amount to enough for the lad to realize where he belonged. She could shower him with kind words, tutors and gifts, but he would hate her all the same.

  She wilted into a pathetic heap, wailing as forlornly as she had at her husband’s graveside when Andrew was but a wee bairn in her belly. All hope fled. Her spirits sank to the depths of hell.

  Somewhere during her collapse, before she hit the floor, Lachlan gathered her into his arms and hastened to take her into the small antechamber behind the dais. The door closed behind them.

  “Easy, sweetheart,” he whispered into her veil. “Easy now. I have you.”

  His gentle words only made the pain in her heart stretch and ache all the more. Why must she be attracted to a man she could never have? A man who planned to leave her. A man who had a life in another century for pity’s sake. “My life is nothing but complete misery,” she cried.

  “Oh, no, how can you say that?”

  “My son hates me, ye are chomping at the bit to go back to your time, and nothing I do is ever good enough.”