Time For A Highlander (Real Men Wear Kilts)

by Maxine Mansfield

  Turning to glance at the man she’d been thinking, fantasizing, and daydreaming about, her breath caught in her chest. There, rising from the sea was the most beautiful castle she’d ever seen, and since she’d been on a tour of Scotland and its castles when she’d died, that was saying a lot.

  It wasn’t the biggest or the grandest, but with the sun glittering off the four tall towers, it looked magical. Why hadn’t she noticed it two days prior when she’d been on her way to the Isle of Lewis and the standing stones?

  Then a whisper so close to her ear it warmed her skin explained why. “That’s Brochel Castle ahead, lass, our home.”

  Tears threatened. This was Brochel? The same Brochel that almost four hundred years from now would be no more than a single tower, a partial wall, and rubble? It hurt her heart to think time would waste away something so beautiful and formidable.

  She looked at Quint and smiled, hoping the sadness didn’t show in her expression. “It’s lovely.”

  He touched her cheek tenderly. “Why so troubled, my Beth? Did I go too far last night? I should’ve kenned better than to have used ye so rough.”

  Beth wanted to kiss him. She wanted to rest her head on his shoulder and cry. She did neither, however. She smiled at her husband and whispered, “You did not use me too roughly, my lord. I enjoyed your attention.” Heat warmed her chilled cheeks. “I am but tired and have need of a nap.” Then she winked. “Perhaps you have need of a nap also, my lord?”

  Quint smiled, nodded, and laughed.

  ****

  She slipped from beneath his arm and out of his bed as stealthily as she could. Wrapping herself in his plaid and glancing back to make sure she hadn’t awakened him, Beth sighed.

  Laird Quinton MacLeod, even asleep, was really a more handsome sight than should be legally allowed. Dark brown, tousled locks of hair lay gently across his forehead, and his more than kissable lips moved ever so slightly as he quietly snored. A bare hairy leg stuck out from under the fur coverlet, and the outline of his fine ass lay less than the reach of a hand away. It was so tempting to give into her obsession for her new husband and snuggle with him, especially after what they’d once more shared.

  Beth shook her head and looked away. Later perhaps, but right now, there really was something very important she needed to do first.

  Slipping into the small chamber off the larger one where her highlander slept, she cupped her hands around her mouth and whispered, “Fate? Tobias? Mr. Moiré, I need you.” She glanced around the corner to make sure Quint still slept, then whispered again, a little louder this time, “Fate, I’m not kidding. Get here now. I really need to talk to you.”

  The air around her began to shimmer, and suddenly, he was there. Mousey brown hair, wire-rimmed glasses, long white robe, and all. “This had better be important, madam. I was right in the middle of whipping up a storm, a very good storm if I do say so myself. You do realize I have a job to do, don’t you? You aren’t my only responsibility.”

  Beth took a deep breath. “Are you done with the lecture? I need your help. I wouldn’t have called for you if it weren’t imperative.” She paced back and forth across the small room. “The creepy Lord Fredrick, Viscount Telford, wants me to give Quint an heir as badly as you do, though I don’t know why. He says it has to do with our plan. But I don’t know what that plan is, and I wouldn’t want any part of it or of him, even if I did.”

  Fate cleared his throat. “Do stop flittering back and forth, madam. You are making me dizzy. And how would I know what the viscount’s plan is or was? In the history I know, Elspeth died remember? Whatever plan the viscount had must have died along with her. Did you search Elspeth’s memories as I instructed you to?”

  Beth scowled. “Of course, I did. That’s why I called you. I’ve gotten no help from Elspeth’s mind on this issue.”

  Once more, she peeked into the sleeping chamber to make sure Quint hadn’t awakened.

  Fate was the one to pace this time. “Time is a tricky thing. Since Lady Elspeth didn’t die as she originally did, you are now rewriting history, so to speak, and I’m afraid you are quite on your own in this endeavor. Everything you do, everything you say has never been done or said before by Elspeth. Time really is like a ripple upon a pond. There’s no telling how far reaching the changes may be.”

  Beth crossed her arms and glared. “Well, that’s certainly no help. What if I make a mistake and someone gets hurt who shouldn’t? What if the viscount now means to harm Quint in some way, and I’m part of that? And what about all the people who count on Quinton MacLeod as their laird? What will happen to them?”

  Fate chuckled. “Why do you care what happens to people who lived almost four hundred years before you were even born? All you need do is give the laird his heir. That should be your only concern, madam. Then you get your wish and move on to be with your own children. End of story. We all live, or in your case, die happily ever after.”

  Tears stung her eyes. Fate was right. She shouldn’t care. She did want to be with her children so very much. Not just wanted to be with them, but needed to be. Still, the thought of harm to Quint or the people who counted on him bothered her.

  Beth shook her head. “I can’t do it. I can’t be part of your crazy scheme to make right a wrong you are responsible for. I won’t do it, and you can’t make me.”

  Tobias Moiré began to shimmer. “I don’t need to make you, madam. You already carry the beginning of Quinton MacLeod’s heir within Elspeth’s body. I mean really, you did it at least five times before you ever left the Isle of Lewis, and then once here already. And I might remind you, without any form of birth control. What else did you expect would happen?”

  He was almost transparent, and his last words drifted back to Beth on no more than a breath. “You won’t see me again until it’s time to give birth to Quinton MacLeod’s son, so don’t bother to call, madam, because I won’t come. Until then, I do wish you luck.”

  Then, as if he’d never been there at all, he was gone.

  After less than twenty-four hours of marriage, she was already pregnant? She now carried the MacLeod heir within her womb? She slumped to the floor, her hands protectively covering Elspeth’s middle. What had she done, and what was she going to do about it?

  The tears came fast and hot.

  She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t be pregnant. She didn’t want to be. As a matter of fact, being pregnant was the very last thing Beth had ever expected to be again. And especially not here and now. Even though she’d reluctantly agreed to give Quint an heir, part of her hadn’t really believed it would happen.

  This was 1643 for God’s sake. There were no obstetricians, no hospitals, and no prenatal care. And—and no epidurals like in the time period in which she gave birth to her children. The mortality rate had to be through the roof.

  Fear gripped her as she ran her hands down Elspeth’s lithe body. Could someone so petite even safely deliver a child? And she’d bet her left big toe, that if they’d even been attempted yet, there weren’t many successful C-sections in the year 1643 either.

  Beth had read horror stories. Hour after endless hour of labor until both mother and child perished. She shivered, though not from the cold. If she really was rewriting history, and even Fate couldn’t tell her how this story would end, what power did she have to change the outcome?

  Fate was right. Why should she care about Quint, his people, or his son? This wasn’t her time, and it wasn’t her place. Hell, it wasn’t even her body or her child. It was Elspeth’s. Still, her hand lightly stroked her belly.

  She would not love this child, and she certainly wouldn’t love his father, no matter how handsome or charming he might be. If life had taught Beth anything, it was, if you love someone, they’ll either be taken from you, leave you all alone, or drive you away. Beth wouldn’t chance giving her heart again. It was no longer hers to give anyway. She’d left the biggest majority of it alongside a wet roadside in Miami, Florida, on a late July evenin
g.

  She wanted to be with her children in Heaven. She really did. Not only wanted to be there, but needed to be. There was unfinished business to attend to. That was what was important. Not Quint, not his castle, or his child, his people, or even whatever the creepy viscount had planned for them all.

  Yes, with the decision made, she wiped the tears from her eyes. She needed to stop worrying about anything else and keep her mind focused on getting through this…pregnancy. It was her ticket out of here and into heaven, after all.

  Nine months. That was it, and she’d be where she needed to be. A simple forty-week gestation period, easy-peasy. She could do it.

  Beth shivered again. She only hoped, in the end, she wouldn’t have to suffer a second death to get where she needed to be.

  ****

  What exactly was the function of the lady of the keep?

  That had been Quint’s answer to her question this morning right before he’d kissed her soundly and walked through the wide wooden doors of the castle’s great hall and out into the sunlight.

  It had slipped out really, the question, that was. Beth hadn’t even realized she’d asked it out loud. She’d simply been thinking. “What am I supposed to do with myself now?”

  “Be the lady of the keep, of course. ’Tis who ye are,” he’d said.

  For not the first time in the past few days, she mentally kicked herself for not paying closer attention to the details in the historical romance novels she’d so enjoyed reading. Oh no, she’d been to wrapped up in the hero, the heroine, and their love story itself to care about what things were, how they functioned, or who did what.

  She sighed. All the hours of research those poor romance writers must have done, and here she’d skimmed the majority of it in her quest to locate the next sizzling, hot love scene. She really was a dirty little old lady at heart.

  Being a middle school history teacher wasn’t much help either. She could rattle off the names of every American president in the order they’d served their country. She knew the dates they entered office, the years of their births and deaths, who they married, and even how many children they’d had.

  Beth knew when the first ship landed on the eastern coast of the United States, when the first covered wagon crossed the prairie, and when the first spike was driven into the very first railroad to span the continent. She even knew when the first shot was fired in not only the Revolutionary, but also the Civil, the Spanish-American, First and Second World, Korean, Vietnamese, and Afghani-Iraqi wars. John F. Kennedy had been assassinated only a handful of years or so before her birth, and Martin Luther King and Robert Kennedy when she’d been but a babe.

  As not much more than a toddler, she’d watched a man walk on the moon, and then a few years later, she’d stared in abject horror as a space shuttle blew apart right before the world’s eyes. She’d been in shock when John Lennon had been senselessly murdered, and even more so when so many lives that shouldn’t have been were lost in Oklahoma. Let alone the aftermath of the day the Twin Towers fell, and all of America lost its innocence forever.

  She’d grown up, gotten married, given birth to, and watched her two best reasons to live die a horrible death. My God, she’d even died herself, once, so far. Yet, here in the year 1643, she didn’t have a clue as what to call the table she now sat before or even how to begin to dress herself without help.

  How sad was that?

  She fisted her hands upon her hips and glanced around the great hall. The beautiful tapestry hanging on the wall above the fireplace and depicting fanciful mermaids rising from the sea was blackened in places with soot. The floor was littered with what looked to be dry hay, and things crunched beneath her feet. Even the table she sat at was so filthy it was impossible to tell what kind of wood it had originally been made from.

  Perhaps she hadn’t concentrated her studies on and didn’t remember much about Scottish history and perhaps she’d even make a fool of herself for trying to make a difference here in what little time she had left to her, but one thing was for certain. All of her adult life she’d worked and she’d worked hard. She wasn’t about to change now.

  If she really was the lady of the keep, then, for the time being anyway, this was her home, her house, and she would clean it. There was no way Bethany-Elspeth Frasier-MacLeod was going to hide away in her room and do nothing for the next nine months.

  She went looking for soap, hot water, a rag, a mop, and a broom.

  Chapter Six

  “My lady!” A stout, gray-haired woman standing before a brick oven in what must be the kitchen attempted a curtsy, and Beth couldn’t help but smile.

  Two other females, young girls really, who were kneading bread dough at a nearby table, literally froze in place, while a boy with a dirty face and an even dirtier plaid wrapped around his skinny little body stared up at her, as if seeing a truly frightening sight.

  Beth cleared her throat. “Hello.”

  The stout woman found her voice. “The name’s Annie, my lady, but most calls me Cook. Was the morning’s fixin’s nae ta ye liking?”

  Her cheeks were rosy-red, probably from the heat of the ovens, and she wrung her hands nervously, as if she were standing before royalty.

  Beth had an almost overwhelming urge to reach out and hug her. Instead, she held out a hand, and the other woman reluctantly took it. “It’s nice to meet you, Annie. Please, call me Beth. The food was fine. I do, however, have a question for you. Where might I find cleaning supplies?”

  Annie didn’t release her hand, but she didn’t answer the question either. She stared at Beth as if she had spoken a language the other woman couldn’t comprehend.

  She tried again. “You know, cleaning supplies, like a broom, a mop, soap, water?”

  The rosy-red of Annie’s cheeks spread to the rest of her face. “What do ye want cleaned, my lady?” She pointed toward the two young girls still frozen in place. “Tell me, and I’ll put me granddaughters, Lana and Elisa, right on it.”

  Beth shook her head. “No, no, you misunderstand. I just need to know where to find the supplies. I’m going to clean the great hall today myself.”

  The gray-haired cook let go of Beth’s hand, as if it were too hot to hold onto, and bellowed at the top of her lungs. “Bronwyn!”

  Within moments, the old, red-headed maid appeared. “What is it now, Annie? I’m busy. I have the laird’s chamber along with her lady’s things ta attend to. I don’t have time ta be running up and down the stairs every time ye’ve got a question. I already told ye what her ladyship likes ta eat.”

  Beth almost laughed. Annie pointed toward her, and with her other hand, cupped her mouth as if that action would prevent Beth from hearing what the woman had to say, she said, “It’s about our lady. I think she’s taken ill. Says she wants a broom and such so she can clean.”

  Bronwyn sighed and took hold of Beth’s arm, but it was Annie she addressed. “Aye, Lady Elspeth hasn’t really been herself lately. Had a nasty fall a few days back, she did. Hit her head, and now she sometimes says the strangest things.” She began backing out of the kitchen, pulling Beth along with her. “We’ll nae be mentioning this ta the laird, now will we?”

  Annie, the two young girls, and even the dirty little boy, all shook their heads.

  ****

  “Who are ye and what have ye done with Lady Elspeth? Are ye a fairy then? A sprite perhaps? Or a witch?”

  Sitting on the edge of the bed she’d shared with Quint MacLeod last night, Beth glanced at the maid. Bronwyn really did look frightened.

  How was she supposed to answer the question? It wasn’t as if she could tell Bronwyn that no, she wasn’t any of those things. That in reality, she was a dead forty-five-year-old woman from almost four hundred years in the future, and she was simply using this body for the next nine months so she’d be allowed to join her dead children. How well would that go over? She caught herself before she could laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation.

  “Well?” B
ronwyn persisted.

  Beth sighed once more and allowed memories from Elspeth’s childhood to flow through her. Memories of being sent to live at the abbey when she’d been but twelve years old. Memories of lying awake in her bed at night, frightened, alone, missing her father, missing her home. Feeding her hatred for Lady Lydia, the one person she held responsible for being where she was.

  Memories of never fitting in. Not with the nuns or even with the other girls in residence. Memories of always being considered the rich, spoiled little lady whose every want and need had been paid for in advance and had better be filled immediately or else. At least the wants and needs that didn’t have anything to do with ever returning home again. Memories of never having any friends, of growing more and more bitter, more lonely, more angry as the years went by.

  How sad.

  “I am not a fairy, a sprite, or a witch, Bronwyn. I am Lady Elspeth MacLeod.”

  The old maid shook her head. “Ye do nae act like her, and ye haven’t since ye fell and hit ye head. If’n ye truly are Lady Elspeth, then what was the last thing ye said ta me about ye soon-ta-be-husband before ye made ye way down the stairs ta supper that night? The same husband, I might add, that ye seem ta more than well enough like now.”

  Beth cringed, and once more drew upon Elspeth’s memories, afraid of what she might or might not learn.

  There it was, the scene, almost as if she were watching it unfold on a TV screen. Elspeth stood at the top of the stairs while Bronwyn made last minute adjustments to her hair and gown. The maid looked nervous.

  “Now smile, my lady. After the fit he heard ye throw yesterday, it’s important ta make a fine impression on the MacLeod laird this evening.”

  Elspeth had turned, a smirk on her face. “Impress him? Oh, I’d like to impress him, all right. I’d like to impress my eating knife right into his black Scots heart.”

  Beth shuddered as she recited the words of the memory to the maid.