by Jane Stain
Tavish
A Time Travel Romance
Copyright 2016 Jane Stain (Cherise Kelley)
All rights reserved.
Chapters Numbered in Gaelic
Aon
Dhà
Trì
Ceithir
Còig
Sia
Seachd
Ochd
Naoi
Deich
Aon deug
Dà dheug
Trì deug
Ceithir deug
Còig deug
Sia deug
Seachd deug
Ochd deug
Naoi deug
Fichead
Aon air fhichead
Dhà air fhichead
Epilogue
Aon
Kelsey examined a beaten silver necklace, holding her phone close so Sasha could see. “Yes, this interlace pattern is at least a thousand years old, probably older, judging by these animal designs woven in along here. Sec, let me zoom in. See?”
“Wow. It does look like it. Have you done the chem bath yet?”
“No, I’m just about to. Here, you can watch.”
Kelsey could barely contain her excitement, even as her nose stung from the acrid smell of the chemical tests that would give the necklace’s age within a hundred years. Her foot bounced impatiently while she let the university’s automatic computerized microscope do its thing and she admired her surroundings outside the canvas flap door of the work tent.
The ruined tower house sat on one of Scotland’s high craggy sea cliffs, with a view over the ocean of the distant green hills of Ireland. The fifteenth century stone house called Dunskey Castle had been built over the ruins of a much older fortification, rumored to be an underground palace chipped out of the very rock, with secret passageways right down to the sea. Her grey-haired client had recently won a court battle to come into ownership of it all, after his family had all but abandoned it five hundred years ago.
Even as much as the work excited her, she itched to get done so the client could take her on the tour he had promised. He had flown her all the way from the U.S. to examine some artifacts he had found in chests in one of the three previously sealed and secret cellars.
Well, now she would tell him he had a trove of antiques—and he would give her a big payment!
Her eyes drifted back to her laptop, and she paused them there, analyzing what she saw and searching for an explanation. Her training kicked in, telling her to collaborate with the trained colleague that protocol had caused her to invite along, if only by phone.
“Are you sure you can’t come by, Sasha? This necklace is odd. The patterns aren’t matching up with any in the computer. It’s still searching, but it’s going slower and slower.”
Sasha’s redheaded face appeared in the corner of Kelsey’s screen.
“No, I have to lecture this afternoon, sorry. But tomorrow’s the weekend, maybe then. I just logged in so I could see. Fascinating. Maybe you’ll catalogue an entire newfound strain of Celtic expression.”
“Wouldn’t that be something?”
Kelsey wanted to say more, but the boyfriend she had loved and lost came bustling into the work tent, completely distracting her. And not only because he was bare chested.
Bronze haired and brown eyed like Kelsey, Tavish MacGregor had been a nosy construction worker at every last one of her Scottish clients’ ruins these three months—after completely dropping out of her life seven years ago. No contact for seven years, no explanation, he was acting like nothing was wrong, and he always stubbornly wore that red and green plaid great kilt that made him so darn sexy she could just...
Oh no.
Kelsey sat up straight and smiled at her client, whom Tavish seemed to be dragging in on the hem of his kilt.
“I have to go, Sasha.”
“Business?”
“Yeah, call you back tonight.”
Typical. Tavish had wandered away from his own work and was looking at hers.
“‘Tis na ‘Celtic jewelry,’” he said to Mr. Blair. “Nay, it be not auld warld.”
And he said this in his sexy accent that had drawn her to him in the first place. Not to mention those twinkling brown eyes that could see into her soul whenever they wanted. And those strong arms that had made her feel so loved and cherished, all those years ago. And his fighting prowess that had protected her a time or two…
Kelsey blinked herself back into the present and turned to her client, to gauge his reaction to what Tavish had told him.
Mr. Blair looked skeptical, but patient.
“Hold on, nae. Let the doctor finish her appraisal, lad.”
Ha, Lad. Good thing someone was around who could put Tavish in his place. She didn’t trust herself to try—and besides, she was a professional woman now, not the teen she’d been when she and Tavish had been together.
She gave her client a patient conspiratorial smile, which he returned. This made her feel warm inside. He respected her expertise, unlike some people.
With the young virile man and the grey stooped man both watching, she finished her complicated high-tech tests on the necklace. Unwilling to believe what she saw and trying not to scowl, she tested a silver goblet next, and then an ornate bronze breastplate.
Finally, she had to admit that Tavish was right.
The items weren’t old world at all.
How did the kilted fool know this stuff better than she did? He hadn’t even gone to college, let alone researched a doctoral thesis on the meanings of ancient Celtic runes—like she and Sasha had.
“I’m sad to say Tavish is right, Mr. Blair. This is indeed imitation Celtic art from the twentieth century. It’s well done and will probably bring five thousand pounds from fans of historical cosplay, but not the hundreds of thousands the Royal Museums would have given you for true antiques. I’m sorry.”
Mr. Blair gave her a sad smile and his digital signature for her usual fee, not the huge bonus she had heard you could get from an overjoyed patron who had struck it big. As he handed her phone back to her and headed out of the tent, his eyes fell reverently on the ring Kelsey wore on her right hand.
Her ring from Celtic University.
Crafted in the same style as the items she appraised—and oddly shaped—this silver ring represented seven years of study in a highly niche discipline at the most prestigious university in that discipline—which only awarded three doctoral degrees every five years.
And she held one of them.
Had for three months now.
And Tavish had… what? That stupid kilt he wore all the time? His stupid Scots accent—which by the way he could drop anytime he wanted to and speak like a normal American? No, she knew exactly what he had.
“You’ve got some nerve, Tavish.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“What nae?”
“Who do you think you are, coming in here and butting in on my business?”
As soon as she said it, she knew she sounded childish and wanted to take the words back, but it was too late for that, so she rocked back on one of her legs and crossed her arms, figuring she might as well entrench her position.
Infuriatingly, Tavish puffed out his chest, crossed his own arms, and gave her that smugly coy look which used to always make her kiss the smugness off of him.
“Yer business? I hae the duty of seeing this place restored correctly.”
Ooh. He had so much nerve, she was going to—
But Tavish nodded to himself, and his gesture took in all of her equipment as well as the trinkets she was examining.
“It is ye, lass, who ar
e in the way.”
Seeing red, she closed her eyes so she wouldn’t have to look at him and opened her mouth to tell him how rude he was being, how Mr. Blair himself had invited her here, and wasn’t it up to the landowner to say who needed to be on his property or not?
But when she opened her eyes again, Tavish was halfway through the tent flap already. Once more, he’d just waltzed in on her doing business and made her look foolish. Had made what she did look so easy that even an uneducated construction worker could do it. She had to tell him he couldn’t do that to her. She wouldn’t take it.
But not in front of the client. Not where he could hear her. She looked around for Mr. Blair and found him on his phone out of earshot, outside. She could see him walking along the cliffs by the sea in the sunshine that had just broken through a small hole in the roiling Scottish storm clouds.
She turned to Tavish’s disappearing form and yelled after the flapping hem of his kilt.
“It’s not like I planted those trinkets in the man’s basement for him to find, you know.”
And then she blew her nose to hide the tears in her eyes, in case someone came into the tent. While she stowed her handkerchief in the pocket of her blazer, she admired the soft light gray wool of her skirted suit, proud of how professional it was. She remembered fondly how her mother had tailor-made it and five more just for her—dark gray, dark brown, camel, navy blue, and olive green. She cheered herself up by recalling how much fun the two of them had, shopping for matching blouses and shoes. Professional, but still feminine and pretty.
How on Earth did Tavish know so much about Scottish artifacts? Why did he have to always show off like this whenever she was in Scotland? It was like he made it a point to be there, just to make her look bad.
Apparently, their relationship had meant more to her than it had to him.
Obviously.
Taking a deep breath and blinking her eyes while fanning them with her hands in order to dry them without smearing her makeup, she tried to look on the bright side.
Her career was solid outside of Scotland, away from Tavish. She had proven her parents wrong. They hadn’t taken it well when she told them what major she was declaring—which was ironic, seeing how they were the ones who had gotten her involved with the Renaissance faire when she was little.
The faire had interested her in all things Celtic.
And the faire had introduced her to Tavish.
And then she’d chosen to major in Celtic Studies way back in her freshman year at college because of all the Celtic fun she and Tavish had made for themselves at the faire.
She fought to maintain her composure so as not to look a fool in front of her client when he came back into the tent, but she was getting lost in a sea of memories, triggered by his presence.
For her first few months at Celtic University, she had texted Tavish whenever something cool or unexpected happened. Had emailed him photos of her dorm room. Had kept calling him and leaving messages.
But then someone else had answered and told her she had the wrong number.
The same thing had happened when she called his parents.
Finally, she had taken the hint, given up, and thrown herself into her studies.
And now after seven years he had shown up at her job sites three times in three months—apparently just to make her clients doubt her abilities. Why? Why couldn’t he just stay out of her life completely?
She smoothed imaginary wrinkles out of her skirt. She needed to have a word with him. In private. No one needed to know their business, least of all her client. But how—
Oh good, it looked like Mr. Blair was preparing to leave. Yep.
He came back into the tent and picked up his briefcase, then shook her hand and gave her a grateful smile.
“Doctor Ferguson, it’s an honor to be doing business with you. It’s a shame about those… supposed artifacts, but we have found a passageway to the sea through the old cellars. I yet hold out hope that we will find the underground Alba castle. If we find anything at all, I’ll be calling you back here to help us look into it. You can count on that.”
She gave him as firm a handshake as she could manage, and she returned his warm smile.
Mr. Blair turned his head toward where Tavish could be seen talking and laughing with the other construction workers and then turned back to her with a knowing look.
“Please tak yer time packing up all yer things, Doctor, and enjoy a look aroond if ye like. I’ve been called into toon for the rest o the afternoon.”
She stood up and opened her mouth to tell him it was okay, she would leave when he did.
But the elderly gentleman closed his eyes and gently shook his head no while holding up his hand and also waving no.
“There’s a washroom that functions ower thare in my trailer, which is unlocked. Please sleep there this evening if it gets tae dark tae drive back into town. Nay trouble at all, and help yourself tae any o the canned food. The men all hae their own trailers up the road.”
This was just too much kindness. It made a tear escape and slide down her cheek. She brushed it away with the back of her index finger.
“Thank you so much, Mr. Blair. I may take you up on that offer. Thank you for the opportunity to see your lands and all that has come with them, and have a safe trip into town.”
Mr. Blair nodded toward the outside.
Kelsey grabbed her purse and got up to follow him out.
She saw him to his car and waved as he drove off, and then she ran to his trailer to get ahold of herself.
It was tough at first, because this trailer reminded her of Tavish’s family trailer at the faire, where among other things she had giggled over pancakes on Saturday and Sunday mornings with them.
She was really glad to have her purse and a functioning washroom. She washed her face and reapplied her makeup, then went back into the work tent by the castle to repack her equipment, glad to have something simple and easy to do while she figured out what to say to Tavish when she caught up to him.
Because she was going to ask him what the hell he was up to. And tell him to quit it. To either be nice, or leave her alone and stay out of her business.
But Tavish was already there when she got back to her stuff. And he had already repacked it for her. Her stuff. Her expensive professional instruments that he had no idea how to use or probably even what they were for.
Her mind whorled and a torrent of insults came to the tip of her tongue. But she bit it. She was a dignified professional appraiser, not some shrew who shrieked at a construction worker. Not where anyone could hear her.
“Well thank you, Tavish, for cleaning up. Now I have time to see the rest of the estate before it gets dark. Do you want to show me around?”
Good. This was a surprise to him, and he looked a little off balance. But it was just for a moment, and then he recovered.
“Okay. Yeah. I’ll just carry this stuff out to your car first so you’ll be all ready to go, and then I’ll give you a quick tour.”
Why was he in such a hurry to get her out of here? Oh well. Let him think it would be a quick tour and then she’d be leaving.
“Thanks. If you can get those two heavy ones, I can get these other two.”
The svelte muscles in his arms moved in fascinating ways as he scooped up her two heavy equipment boxes in no time at all and then stood off to the side to let her pass.
Darn. He still had manners.
“After you,” he said.
“Thanks.”
As she led him out to her rental car, she used her pretty gray high-heeled shoe to kick some loose stones out of the way—and was satisfied to see them fly.
Why was she thanking him as if he would be the one staying in the owner’s trailer tonight? She was the senior level contractor on site, the one with the most training and the biggest credentials. How did he manage to always be in charge?
She opened her trunk, and he packed her equipment away. She stowed her high heels, go
t out her boots and socks, sat down in the passenger seat, and was putting them on over her pantyhose when Tavish came right up to her and decided to make small talk.
“Oh, good. I was afraid you were going to break your ankle on our little tour, in those impractical shoes.”
So that was how they were going to play it, huh? Act nonchalant. She took a deep breath and then came up with a genuine smile at the prospect of the tour.
“No way. I came prepared to find out just exactly how extensive the secret passageways are.”
At the mention of secret passageways, a little of the young Tavish, her Tavish, came back in the twinkle of his eyes.
“You wouldn’t believe how extensive!”
They grinned at each other for a moment, just like old times.
But then his smile fell.
“Oh, but you don’t have time even to go down one of the secret passageways.”
Her face must have looked puzzled, because he gave her a pitying look.
“You really don’t wanna be driving back to town after it gets dark. There aren’t any streetlights, and the roads twist and turn every which way.”
She decided it was time to set him straight about just how much time she was going to be here with him.
“It’s okay. Mr. Blair gave me the use of his trailer.” She looked up at where the sun could barely be seen through the thick Scottish clouds. “We have at least 4 hours of daylight left. Even I can hike down to the water and back in that amount of time.”
He gave her the thinnest of smiles, but then he put his hands on his hips and turned toward the castle.
Preparing for him to tell her she had to leave, she sat up straighter in her rental car. If it came down to it, she would call Mr. Blair and have him tell Tavish what was what.
But that giddy smile came back on Tavish’s face.
“Do you have a heavier coat along? Because it can get pretty cold down there, even in September.”
Smiling, she grabbed her parka and leather daypack out of the back seat.
Dhà
The tower house was mostly just three stories of crumbling stone walls. It was large, about a hundred feet by fifty feet, but had no roof. The true attraction was the rumored underground castle inside the cliffs the house sat upon.
