The Draig's Woman

by Wadler, Lisa Dawn

  Claire turned away from the cool breeze. Her quiet mutterings of it being “too cold and nasty for a dream” made him wonder if she truly realized where she was. Noting the wet shirt in her hands, he saw that her eyes were focused very intently on the fabric.

  Standing still and closing her eyes, Claire asked, “Where am I? This is obviously . . . wrong. Where am I, and how did I get here? How do I get back? I want to go home.”

  Not wanting to risk being found by the men he knew would be pursuing him, he said, “We dinna have time to figure this out now. We need to ride.” Ian reached for her hand.

  Claire slapped his hand away with a burst of annoyance. “No. I’m not going anywhere with you.” She took a step away from him. “Look, I don’t know you, and I need to find my way back. I am going to find my way back. I want to go home now.” With that said, Claire turned to stomp away.

  Stepping into her path, Ian blocked her way. “Lass, you are headed back to the men who captured me.” He saw the fear and uncertainty flash in her eyes. “Sit down and we will talk, briefly. Then we ride.”

  Without a word, Claire sank to sit at the edge of the stream. “I can’t remember ever being this tired in a dream. Unless of course, if this is real. I really don’t want this to be real.” Splashing some cold water on her face and taking a deep breath, Claire asked again, “Where am I, and who are you?”

  Sitting next to her, Ian answered, “I have introduced myself. I am Ian, Laird of the Draig clan.” His voice filled with pride at those words, thinking she should be impressed, thinking any lass should be pleased to have a fine, strong laird to keep her safe.

  “What is a laird?”

  Not an impressive beginning, Ian mused. “I am the ruler of my clan, lass.”

  “Oh, all right, that makes perfect sense. So where am I, ruler of your clan?” The irritation was loud and clear in her voice.

  From no other would Ian have entertained that tone. Instinct made him believe that Claire’s fear spoke with harsh tones. Answering quickly, “Ian, lass. My given name is Ian. You may use it.”

  “Fine, Ian. Where am I, and where do you think we are going?” Anger was fading from Claire’s voice, leaving a tired impression as her weary gaze met his.

  Ian could only tell her the truth. “You are in Scotland, the lower highlands. It will take us a good two days to reach my lands, mayhap more with both of us riding Samson. My keep lies to the north and west.” The color drained from her high cheekbones, and for a moment, he was afraid the shock would cause her to faint.

  Claire’s mouth fell open at his statement, and her eyes shifted to take in their surroundings. Ian looked at what she would see: the grass-covered rolling hills, the rocky outcroppings, and the creek that they sat beside. The air was alive with the sounds of birds, moving water, and wind. If this were not so far from home, it would be a pleasant spot to spend an afternoon with a beautiful lass.

  Beautiful was the only word Ian had to describe Claire. Even in her state of shock, with paled skin, she was breathtaking. Long auburn hair begged to be released from its binding. Big brown eyes with thick lashes surveyed the landscape. Even though she now frowned, her lips beckoned his to finish the kiss that had been a mere taste of what could be between them.

  He rose to stand as Claire did the same. Mirroring her slow movements, Ian tried hard not to startle her. He stood tall with pride as her gaze fell upon him. He was a strong warrior and proud of his form; his strength and build came from years of battle practice.

  A grin crept over his features as her eyes went from his broad shoulders to his tapered waist. There were several scars on his chest, showing that he was a man who worked to defend his people. The mark of his ancestors stood out boldly, the dragon tattoo on his left pectoral. The design was of a dragon with no tail, a head on each end. He was glad he had worn his plaid; the blue, green, and black of his clan were worn with constant pride. He wondered why Claire stared so long at his boots. The soft leather bound with rawhide was nothing unique; most wore such to protect their feet. Maybe it’s my strong legs that hold her attention. Ian knew he was a vain man.

  He walked by her side as Claire moved to the horse. Her hand stroked the animal as it grazed in the sunshine. Reaching to help her, Ian showed her how the saddlebags opened and took the opportunity to grab clean clothing from the bag. “I will return in just a moment, Claire.”

  Leaving her to her silent thoughts, Ian stepped into the woods, only to return wearing leather pants that hugged him like a second skin. He pulled a clean shirt over his head and tied the laces over his chest. Reaching out, she touched the fabric of his shirt.

  “The fabric is so real. This doesn’t make sense,” Claire mumbled. She picked up his dirty, wet shirt from the ground and handed it to him without a word. Looking again at the scenery, she asked her last question. “Ian, when is this?”

  Ian had been waiting to see if she would ask. If he remembered correctly, the doors involved a change in whens. They also said that not all who traveled could handle this fact. “When do you think it is, Claire?”

  Staring at the trees, Claire answered flatly, “Friday, October 5, 2012.”

  Ian felt that he was perhaps the one who could not handle the truth. His mind spun at the thought. Nearly eight hundred years stood between them. Ian tried to soften the blow, but the truth was deserved. “‘Tis early May, year of our Lord 1217.”

  “That’s not possible. People don’t travel like that. No one finds themselves half a world away and 795 years in the past. But it must be spring here, the leaves are just opening, and it smells like spring, all earthy and clean.” Claire babbled some more but nothing with any clarity. He moved close and took her hands gently in his and waited for her to stop. When she did, Claire stared at his chest and then closed her eyes with a heavy sigh.

  Ian knew he should say something, but he didn’t know what. If he had not seen her come through with his own eyes, he would have believed none of it. He chose a path of safety, “Claire, I dinna ken how this came to pass. From the tales I have heard, such doors are rare and their workings a mystery.” He knew it was not the time to say that the tales spoke of his ancestor creating the passages. Claire needed to trust him and not blame him.

  “But you have saved my life,” Ian continued. “Twice, if I am honest about it. I have a blood debt to you. In this place, amongst my people, that means your life is mine to protect. Protect you I shall. I will provide you with a safe place to live and all that you need. But for me to do this, we need to keep moving until we reach my lands.” He waited for her reply as he studied her closely. Claire would not look at him, but her head nodded in silent consent. Placing her again on the horse, they rode north.

  Again, Ian bent her low over the saddle, as speed was the priority. That she felt like perfection snug against his chest, with his arm holding her tight around the waist, was a fine treat. Even distracted by her warmth and scent, he knew the safety of his keep was too far away. He was pleased that Claire cooperated with his silent request to lean low on the horse but made a mental note to ask her what she meant in her soft mutterings, not quite sure what a sports bra was or why she wished to have one.

  They rode hard, only stopping when daylight was almost gone. Ian was not pleased with the ground they had covered. Two on the stallion had slowed their progress, this much he said to Claire as the horse stopped. Still this seemed like a suitable place to make camp. Even Claire noticed they had the high ground. On this hill, they could see the surrounding area and keep watch for riders. The rocks on the hillside would provide cover from the wind, hide their fire, and protect their backs, so Ian explained. She knew none of these thoughts were hers, as Ian had said them all. The fantasy of a dream had faded with the afternoon light.

  Ian surveyed the lands in the distance from horseback.

  “I don’t see anything,” C
laire offered with a soft and weak voice. She didn’t like the sound of it.

  I need to keep it together. I’ll figure this out. If there was one door, there should be another. But the door didn’t work going home, did it? Were they one way only? Did he say the doors were rare? Rare does not sound promising.

  Ian helped her down from the stallion. “The horse needs to rest, and we do also. ‘Tis a fine spot to make camp for the night.” Claire caught Ian’s smile as she stared in disbelief at his comment. “Trust me. After a meal and some sleep, we will be better able to travel.”

  Claire looked at where they were. From the hill, she could see little but trees, so many trees, and rocks breaking through from the ground. They weren’t the mountains she was used to, just rocks a little taller than she was. Clearings were visible in the distance. The path they had taken wound along the hillside. The sun setting in the distance should have been beautiful. She had always loved a good sunset, but this one was just too foreign. Then Claire remembered she was supposed to be afraid. After all, very unpleasant men were most likely pursuing them. She turned to Ian. “But I thought we were assuming we were being followed. Is it safe to just stop?”

  “The risks are too great to travel at night. The men who would offer chase cannot follow our tracks in the dark. We will leave at first light,” Ian said. “I ken that most lasses prefer a warm bed in a safe place. These things shall be yours when we reach my lands. I will see to a small fire, for ‘tis growing cold with the sun setting, and then I will go catch us something to eat.”

  Claire could only stare as he gathered sticks and dried grass and grabbed some stones out of his bag. It seemed magical to her that there was a fire. She was so cold. Arizona got cold, but it wasn’t this damp, and she didn’t have to face it without a closet full of warm clothes. She sat close to the fire, feeding it sticks and hoping to warm up. She tried hard to grasp what had happened and failed miserably.

  Grabbing a small bow and a few arrows from his pack, Ian said, “I’m going to try to find us some fresh meat to add to my supplies. Will you be fine here for a wee bit? I dinna feel leaving you is best. However, we could both benefit from a fine meal.”

  Claire simply nodded and sat down, pulled her knees into her chest, and stared into the fire.

  “Claire, Claire can you hear me?” Ian’s voice came from far away.

  “Sorry, I must have dozed off. How long were you gone?” Claire answered with a sleepy and confused voice.

  I must have dozed off. That seems like the smart thing to do with crazy men chasing us through the past. Maybe I should have posted a sign: Stupid Girl Here. She’s asleep! Go ahead and kill her! Just like a horror movie. Maybe I’ll go for a walk and a swim alone.

  Claire gazed up at him and gave him a small, tired smile. Ian rewarded hers with a showing of two rabbits and a cocky grin. Not waiting for more, Ian set to preparing the meat to be cooked and made a wooden spit to roast their dinner.

  Watching everything the man did, she mused that most guys had trouble cleaning up after take-out. The smell of the cooking meat made her stomach rumble.

  When was the last time I ate? Yesterday, dinner. Does the word yesterday still have meaning? It hasn’t happened yet, or has it? How could it have, when yesterday was 795 years from now, well, my now anyway? Great, now I have a headache. Time travel leaves a lot of questions. It seems much easier to think about the philosophical questions than the real ones.

  Claire wondered when pondering time travel became safer than thinking about Ian.

  Ian’s voice broke her train of thought. “There is some bread and cheese in the saddle bag, lass. Care to fetch it? The meat is about ready for us to enjoy. There should also be a bag of drink.”

  Who carries a bag of drink? Is that like wine in a box? If I keep going, maybe I can make it all rhyme too.

  Stopping her mad mental ramblings, Claire offered, “Sure, fine, I’ll get it.”

  Bringing the wineskin and the bag of food, she sat next to Ian at the fire. She pulled her black bag to her side, where she pulled out her bottle of water and took a long sip of the tepid liquid.

  “Here,” Claire said, offering him some. “It’s just water, go ahead.” She couldn’t help but smile as he studied her water bottle. She clearly wasn’t the only one a little confused. He took a drink and handed her his own drink. Trust and sharing seemed appropriate. Taking her turn at trust, she took a drink from the wineskin and promptly spat it onto the fire.

  With a look of shock, Ian asked, “Why did you do that? ‘Tis a sin to waste such fine ale.”

  “Maybe I should have asked what it was first. It tastes like beer. I hate beer.” Claire knew the taste would haunt her all night.

  “I’ll stick with the water. The ale is all yours.” She handed him back the wineskin with a grimace.

  Laughing, Ian set the meat before her on a stick and gave her some of his bread and a piece of cheese. “Eat, Claire, I will enjoy the ale for us both.”

  Claire devoured the meal, not stopping until she had licked the last of the greasy meat from her fingers. She looked up and caught Ian doing the same. She stared too long at his mouth that sucked his finger. She was also certain that he was aware of it.

  Trying to offer a diversion, she said, “I don’t think I’ve ever eaten rabbit before. I like it.”

  With a wide smile, Ian said, “I am pleased you are at least well fed. In truth, I needed the meal just as badly. Yester eve was the last meal I enjoyed, and that was cold fare from the bag.”

  “Why were you eating out of a bag?” Claire asked, as this seemed the time for questions, many questions, because she needed more information. She’d start small and save the bigger ones for later.

  “Nay, lass. My men and I were traveling home, and ‘twas our first night out in the open. We chose to use our supplies before they spoiled.” Ian answered her quickly, obviously hoping for some conversation.

  “Where were you coming from? I mean, do you travel a lot? Is that what a laird does?” Whoa, too much. Slow down Claire, one at a time. Learn a little something and then move on to the next. “Umm, I don’t mean to be rude or anything.”

  “Your curiosity is fine. My men and I were traveling home from meeting with Laird Tavis. Our business was concluded, and it was past time to be heading back to my lands. Nay, I dinna travel much. I prefer to be home. I need to be there to care for my clan.” Ian answered the unspoken question. “My people, I am laird, and I care for them. ‘Tis my duty to provide all and to protect them.”

  As Claire tried to remember medieval history, she was only able to recall that in some places a local ruler took care of everyone. Somewhat impressed to meet someone who served in this role, she said, “Wow, that sounds like a lot of responsibility. Who does your work while you are gone?”

  With a smile at the question, Ian answered, “The husband of my sister. His name is Hagan. He’s a good man, and he stands for me while I am away. My sister, Aliana, is in charge of the household. Her wee son, Cerwyn, stands as my heir. You will meet them all soon enough. I am fortunate to have such a fine family. They will welcome you, I promise. What of you and your family?” With a slight pause to have another sip of ale, he continued, “Mayhap speaking of those you hold dear will help. I would listen to any tales you wish to tell.”

  “Well, until recently, it was just my mom and me. She remarried this year, a nice man named David. Mom had been alone for a long time. My dad died when I was fifteen. I’m glad she’s happy.”

  Why am I telling him this?

  “Then there is Brooke, my friend, my best friend. She has always been like a sister to me.” Claire stopped in mid-speech and wondered what possessed her to share every detail of her life.

  “How long ago did your father die?” Ian asked as he tilted his head to the side.

  “About nine ye
ars ago. It was quick and with no warnings.” Answering the obvious question, she said, “I’m twenty-four.” Waiting for Ian to respond, she asked, finally, “And you are?”

  “I just marked the start of my twenty-seventh year.” Ian smiled and asked, “No one else, lass? No man you leave behind?”

  “Now you sound like my mother and Brooke combined.” Claire laughed as she said it. Why does every one want me to date? She chose the safe thought, not giving in to the urge to smile at the look on his face. The one that said he was a bit too happy she wasn’t with someone.

  “Why does your sister run your household? I mean, wouldn’t your wife do that kind of thing?” Claire saw the humor leave his face and knew she had asked the wrong question.

  Ian answered quickly, “Aye, she would and she will when I marry.”

  Claire took a sip of her water. “So what was your meeting about?” She saw Ian tense a little and shift his position and mentally cursed herself for another wrong question.

  Ian reached to place more wood on the campfire. “I was meeting to negotiate for a wife. The contract is almost settled. The bride will be delivered before the next moon.” Ian spoke without meeting Claire’s eyes.

  “No offense, but you don’t seem happy about that. What’s she like?”

  What is she like? What kind of woman would you marry? Oh and of course he’s engaged. First attraction in heaven knows how long . . . She knew she was losing her focus. She needed to determine what she was walking into, what she had already seemingly walked into.