Two blasts of the village horn rent the air, and to Hunter’s ear the tone sounded mournful. “Och, I fear ’tis news of my uncle. If you will forgive me, I must wash and change. I’ll be wanted on the mainland.” Hunter tore off a chunk of bread and grabbed a slice of ham from the trestle table.
“Of course.” Cecil nodded. “We will speak of this another time. I’d like to accompany the party leaving for the mainland. I too wish to pay my respects.”
“For certes. I’ll see you at the ferry landing anon.” Hunter made a slight bow and took the stairs to the second floor. A short while later, clean and dressed in fresh garments, he made his way to the shore to find a group waiting for his arrival, including Cecil, Tieren and Murray.
“Oh good,” True said, hurrying to his side. Her eyes were puffy and red, and they filled with tears as she spoke. “I was about to send someone to find you. We received word early this morning that Robert passed during the night. The funeral procession will begin very soon. We need to be there.”
“’Tis grievous news indeed.” He took True’s arm and helped her onto the ferry. Then he returned to shore and scooped up his foster sisters. A nursemaid followed, clucking and fussing for him to be careful with her wee charges.
“Come, Monroe, let us depart,” Hunter said, taking his place amongst the others already aboard. He set the lasses down and took their hands. The ferry master poled the vessel from shore and aimed it toward the mainland, just as a wagon appeared on the crest of the hill. Hunter’s heart pounded. Despite the sadness of the occasion, he couldn’t wait to lay eyes upon his kin once more—and Meghan. What would his clan make of her, especially garbed as a squire as was her habit?
The ferry did not move nearly fast enough to suit him. He fixed his gaze upon the riders slowly wending their way down the hill behind the wagon. Impatient, he handed his sisters off to True. He took up a pole to help push the ferry across the loch. “Let us make haste, Monroe. Tieren,” he said, “will you take up the other pole?”
“Aye,” Tieren said, moving toward the corner opposite his.
With the three of them toiling together, the shore quickly grew closer. Once they hit land, Hunter leaped to shore. Tieren tossed him one of the mooring ropes before jumping to shore with the other. Together they pulled the ferry into its landing. He helped the women onto solid ground, and they moved as a group to the village square. Malcolm met them there. He took True into his arms. His foster father and mother wept openly, their foreheads pressed together.
A memory from long ago sprang to his mind. The first time his foster mother had a vision and lay so still in her bed, he’d feared she was dying—like his ma and his granddam. He’d cried then, and Malcolm had assured him then that even the strongest and bravest warriors wept sometimes. Tears filled his eyes and spilled down his cheeks. Not just for the loss of his foster uncle, but for his real mother. Though hazy now, her image still played through his memory now and then. He wept for his granny, who had loved and cared for him after his mother’s passing, and he wept for the sire he’d never met.
The wagon approached. Robert’s remains had been sewn into his burial shroud and lay in the wooden coffin in the back of the wagon being led by Father Paul, their priest. Father Paul halted the procession when it reached them at the edge of the village. “As kin, you must take your places in line now.” He spoke softly. The priest turned to Rosemary and the rest of the family riding behind. “Dismount and leave your horses with the stable hands. We’ll walk to the kirk from here as is proper.”
Lady Lydia and the earl of Fife, William, supported Rosemary between them. Robley, Erin and their bairns followed, along with Robley’s brother Liam, his lady wife and their offspring. Hunter caught sight of Meghan and promptly lost the ability to breathe. She wore a blue velvet gown that accentuated her lithe figure. Why had he supposed she’d still be garbed as a squire? Of course Erin and his aunts had seen to it that she dressed as a proper lady. Her hair had been done up in a coil of braids, accentuating her loveliness. The way she moved, the way she held herself could only be described as regal.
She walked toward him, her hips swaying in a most enticing manner, and her hands folded demurely before her. His mouth went as dry as wheat chaff, and his knees could scarce hold him upright. His eyes narrowed. Why hadn’t he noticed the way she walked before today?
Tieren and the other men lining the road stood a little straighter. Their blatant interest and desire clogged his senses. Bloody hell! He wanted to cover her from head to toe in plain brown wool. What had become of the old cloak Allain had given her?
“Lady Meghan.” Cecil stepped into her path and bowed low. “Please accept my most humble apology for the grievous insults I cast upon you. I have been so distraught with remorse that I hastened here from Dumfriesshire as soon as I was able.”
Meghan’s eyes widened with surprise. “Um . . . sure.” She stepped around Cecil and came to stand before Hunter. “I’m so sorry about your uncle’s passing. How are you?”
Her luminous brown eyes met his, and his heart ceased beating for an instant. The caring and sympathy filling her expression caused his eyes to fill with tears again. Damnation. He did not want her to see him in such a state. Then she walked right into his arms, and all his worries fled. Closing his eyes, he held her close, resting his soul in the blessed comfort of her embrace. By the saints, he’d missed her.
“Dinna forget when and where you are, Meg,” Robley admonished.
Hunter winced at the scolding tone, and heat rose to his face. Meghan was blameless. ’Twas he who had forgotten himself. She left his arms. Feeling the loss most acutely, he cleared his throat, sucked in a deep, fortifying breath and straightened. “Uncle Robley, I am so sorry. Your father will be sorely missed by all. I will miss him.”
“My thanks,” he said, his voice gruff. “Come, you two. Let us take up our places in line. Meghan, you will walk with Erin and our bairns. We’ve a funeral mass to attend.”
CHAPTER SIX
Meghan stepped out of Hunter’s arms. She didn’t want to, but Robley’s voice had that disapproving father tone to it, and she’d already suffered through enough of his lectures about fifteenth-century comportment. Young ladies of noble birth must guard their reputations well, and as long as Erin and I are acting as your godparents, you’d best take heed. That’s what he said, among other things, like how young ladies didn’t walk around with broadswords strapped to their backs.
The Robley she remembered had been much more adventurous, irreverent and free-thinking. He’d been eager to trade his destrier in for a Harley Davidson motorcycle, for crying out loud. Sighing, she glanced at Hunter. His eyes met hers, and she couldn’t bear to see the grief filling them. It was all she could do to keep from wrapping her arms around him again. Lord, she’d missed him.
“Sorry,” she said. “My fault. Where I come from, no one would think anything of it when two friends hug. Especially under circumstances like these.”
“Och, but we discussed this, Meg.” Robley ushered her back to the line forming behind the funeral wagon.
“Yep. We sure did,” she said, peering over her shoulder at Hunter once more before taking her place in line. She caught Cecil staring at her then, and her skin crawled. Why was he here? She didn’t believe his apology was all that sincere. Did he still want to harm her?
Tieren caught her eye and nodded. He placed his hand on the dagger at his waist and inched his way closer to Cecil. She let out the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding and nodded back, sending him a look of gratitude. Tieren would watch out for her, and that was a good thing, because Robley hadn’t allowed her to wear her sword or carry any daggers to the funeral.
Erin leaned close to her. “I apologize for my husband’s overprotectiveness. He can’t help himself. I think overprotectiveness is hardwired into the MacKintosh male’s DNA.”
Meghan stifled her smile. T
his was a funeral procession. “No matter how over the top Robley is, I do appreciate his concern. I’m grateful to the both of you for taking me in.”
“We’re glad to have you. Do you have any idea how nice it is to speak in twenty-first-century vernacular without getting odd looks? I’ve been where you are. Robley and I both take our roles as your guardian seriously.” She looped her arm through Meghan’s. “Are you OK? For a minute there, you looked frightened.”
“I’m fine now. Tieren made it clear he’s keeping an eye on things for me. Cecil is here. He’s the man standing in front of Tieren.” She nodded her head in the knight’s direction. “He’s the one I told you about, the guy who accused me of being a faerie or a witch.”
“Oh.” Erin frowned. “What’s he doing here?”
“Who knows?” She huffed out a breath.
Erin patted her arm. “Don’t worry. There’s not a MacKintosh man here who wouldn’t leap at the chance to protect you.”
Her brow rose, and she glanced at Erin. “You think so?”
“I know so.” Erin patted her arm again. “Two in particular.”
Robley sent them another disapproving look, and Meghan decided now was not the time to question Erin further. Erin had plenty to deal with, and Meghan had already pestered her enough in the past two days about her choice to return to Rob’s century. She’d listened raptly when Erin had described what life had been like for her since. Erin and Robley were happy. Their love and respect for each other was plain to see. Erin had told her that, although she missed her family, she’d never regretted her choice.
At the far end of town, they came to a lovely stone church complete with a small bell tower. On a hill beside the church a grave had been prepared in the center of the village cemetery. Four warriors transported the coffin into the church, and the family followed. A few benches took up the front of the nave. For the nobility, no doubt.
Robert’s remains were carried to the transept and placed upon a dais. Father Paul led the earl and his family to the front seats, before he continued on to prepare the altar for the funeral mass. Meghan followed Erin and her children to the spot reserved for Robley’s family. Liam, Mairen, their son and daughters followed. She hadn’t been introduced to Hunter’s foster parents yet. There hadn’t been time. Meghan studied them. It was hard to imagine leaving your place in time forever, but True and Erin had both done so. She had a million questions she wanted to ask Lady True, since she’d already grilled Erin on the subject.
The knights stood directly behind the benches, and all of her awareness centered on Hunter. Would it be bad manners to turn around and smile at him? Probably. She glanced sideways at Rob. She didn’t want to risk another stern look from her newly appointed, hover-ready godfather.
Villagers filed in to fill the rest of the available space, and soon the mass began. In Latin. Her mind wandered, filled mostly with thoughts of the tall, broad-shouldered knight behind her.
By late afternoon, Meghan found herself with the MacKintosh family in the ladies’ solar. Hunter reunited with his family with fierce hugs, backslaps and happy tears, while the younger children chased each other around the room, and older cousins caught up with each other. Little Hannah, Rob and Erin’s youngest daughter, stared at Hunter, her large blue eyes filled with fascination and her thumb planted firmly in her cherubic mouth. Meghan couldn’t blame her, since she had to fight the urge to stare at him herself.
Standing in a corner of the room apart from the MacKintosh, she couldn’t help feeling like the outsider she was. A pang of longing for her family brought a sting to her eyes. What were they doing right now? Probably trying to find a way to bring her back home.
Servants came and went, bearing extra chairs, wine and food. More servants appeared to hustle the children to the nursery. Mairen and Liam followed, claiming they were exhausted.
Her palms sweaty, Meghan moved closer to Erin and sat beside her on the cushioned bench. True took the place on Erin’s other side.
“Malcolm, True.” Robley gestured toward her. “This is Lady Meghan McGladrey. Her kin were of great help to me whilst I visited the twenty-first century. I trow Hunter has told you how she came to us?”
“Aye, he did,” Malcolm said. “Rest assured you are welcome here, lass.”
“As I told you at Meikle Geddes, you have our protection, Meghan,” William added. “We are most grateful to you for the aid you provided to us these past two days.”
“I was happy to help.” She hadn’t done much, other than keep all the children in line when needed and fetch things or servants as directed. Still, it helped her to have jobs to do.
True reached around Erin and patted Meghan’s hand. “You have a home with us. Erin and I understand what it’s like to be so suddenly displaced.”
“I’m grateful,” she said, squirming a bit. “I want to be useful while I’m here. The boys I traveled with are interested in learning mixed martial arts. Would it be all right if I taught them? I’m a certified instructor.” Robley frowned, his features turning all fatherly again.
“Rob, you know my father approved. He’s the one who taught me everything I know about weaponry, and I taught mixed martial arts at our fencing club.” Disappointment knotted her stomach. What was she supposed to do all day? Embroider? She’d never even threaded a needle.
“Meghan is quite skilled,” Hunter said. “’Twould be of great value to us if we learned the uh . . . mixed . . . arts.”
“Martial arts.” She shot him a grateful look. “It’s a combination of several combat disciplines including judo, kickboxing, karate, wrestling and boxing.” Blank stares met her words.
Erin snorted. “Welcome to the fifteenth century, Meg. Besides me and True, not a soul in this room has a clue what you just said.”
“Oh. Right.” She twisted the velvet of her surcot in her hands. “I can teach any who want to learn how to defend themselves using a variety of hand-to-hand fighting techniques. I’m no good at the gently bred lady stuff, but I am good at teaching mixed martial arts. It’s what I’ve always done.” Lost. She felt lost in this time, with no purpose and without the cultural or social skills to fit in.
“She’s not gifted,” Erin said, glancing at True. “Not even a little bit.”
“What?” Meghan blinked in indignation. “I have plenty of gifts.”
“Of course you do, my dear,” Lydia placated. “I find you very gifted indeed.”
“You haven’t spoken to her about this, Hunter?” True’s gaze flew to Hunter. “Given the circumstances, I would have thought you’d explain a few things to her at least.”
“Nay, I have said naught.” Color crept up his neck. “After all she’s gone through, I thought it best no’ to speak of it. I did no’ wish to burden her further.”
“Burden me further?” Meghan frowned. “I don’t understand.”
Rosemary stood up. “Meghan, you were most helpful to us at Meikle Geddes during this very trying time, and I am gladdened by your presence. Mayhap teaching the lads how better to defend our clan is what you were sent here to do. Have you considered that, Robley?” She arched a brow at her son.
“Nay,” he replied. “Mother, why do you no’ sit?”
“I’m tired, and grief weighs heavily upon my heart. I will leave you all to continue this discussion without me. I wish to retire to my chamber.”
“I shall accompany you,” Lydia said, following Rosemary to the door. “William, my love, once Rosemary is settled, I too shall retire to our chamber. These past few days have been trying indeed.” She smiled warmly Meghan’s way. “Whatever the reason, Meg, I too am glad to have you with us.”
Meghan’s heart swelled with gratitude. Even though she’d dropped into their lives at a difficult time, everyone she’d met had been nothing but kind to her. “Thank you. If there’s anything I can do to help, please let me know.”
“We will, lass.” Lydia touched her shoulder in passing. “Good eve to you all.”
Once the two women had departed, Meghan turned to Hunter. “What is this giftedness you didn’t tell me about?”
The color rose higher to his face, and he wouldn’t make eye contact. “Lady True, Lady Erin and I have fae blood running through our veins. We possess . . . certain abilities because of it, as do some of their bairns.”
“Such as?” Meghan looked from Hunter to the two women sitting with her.
“I can tell whether or not someone is telling the truth, and occasionally, when the clan is in danger, I have visions about things to come,” True told her. “Erin has healing abilities, and she can sense things about a person’s physical well-being.”
“I too can discern truth from lie,” Hunter said. He studied the floor, or his boots. She couldn’t tell which. “I am able to read emotions and intent as well.”
“You see,” Erin said, “True and I were brought to this clan specifically because of the connection we have to the fae and because of our abilities. Which is why we’re all puzzled about your sudden appearance. Madame Giselle has orchestrated our lives in such a way that our gifts have impacted the entire clan in a positive way. True saved Hunter’s life, and I saved hers. So . . .”
“So we’re all wondering why Giselle brought you to us,” True added.
“Giselle said something to Hunter about restoring balance and righting a wrong of old. My father was taken from thirteenth-century Ireland. Maybe it’s a take one forward, take one back kind of deal? Who knows?” Meghan’s head spun, especially when it came to Hunter’s abilities to sense emotion. Mortification burned through her. Had he picked up on some of the X-rated thoughts she’d had about him? “All this time you’ve been able to read me like a book?” She scowled at Hunter. “And you said nothing? I would have appreciated a heads-up.”
“Nay, lass. I get naught from you.” He shook his head and met her gaze. “You are completely closed to me. I’ve ne’er encountered your like before, and ’tis a mystery I’ve yet to solve.”
The Highlander's Folly (The Novels of Loch Moigh Book 3) Page 11
