A Laird for All Time

by Angeline Fortin

  If it was something of that nature, would they reverse it? Could they? How widespread was it? Were there others here like her? Others stuck in other times having this same discussion in their heads? Perhaps, but what to do until she knew for sure? She most emphatically did not want to burn as a witch or something equally repellent.

  The footman’s prompt return brought Emmy out of her reverie as he held out a small tray with a glass to her. Nodding and whispering her thanks, Emmy took the glass and carefully poured the hot tea into it unaware of the bewildered stares she was receiving from the others. Then she took a few extra minutes to dig around her tote for some Sweet & Low.

  Connor watched intrigued as she slapped the little pink packets against her hand before tearing them open and shaking the powdered contents into her drink. He wondered what it was. Her forefinger followed it into the glass where she stirred it for a moment before popping her finger in her mouth to suck off the excess liquid. That small action changed the course of his thoughts entirely. It was the most innocently erotic action he had ever seen a woman perform. The images that came to his mind aroused him unexpectantly. Stifling the arousal without mercy, he embraced his anger and broke the silence.

  “Well, Heather,” Connor prompted harshly aware that she wasn’t going to willingly begin on her own.

  “Okay,” Emmy looked up and met his dark gaze once more feeling its pull like a whirlpool tugging her under the water. “Well, I returned here because I wanted to...” She stared into his stormy eyes and felt the attraction between them, the chemistry and knew that he had felt it too. It was strong and intense, unlike anything she had ever experienced before. It was a reaction like you read about but are sure never actually happens in real life. So, the words, when they came, seemed to be the most truthful she had ever spoken in her life.

  “I came here to be with you.”

  Chapter 5

  Duart Castle

  The Isle of Mull, Scotland

  October 1895

  Emmy didn’t even flinch as the door slammed shut behind Connor as he stormed out of the room following her remark. She was stunned as well by her answer. Yet it felt right. The minute she had seen him – before she realized he was simply mad, that is – her first thoughts had been of wishing for a man like that for her own. This was the feeling of romance novels and fairy tales, well adult fairy tales. It wasn’t real. It wasn’t typical, normal or usual.

  In one of her favorite romantic comedies, French Kiss, when Meg Ryan’s Kate and Kevin Kline’s Luc finally kiss at the end, there is this moment when his hands clench into fists on the back of her dress as if he couldn’t hold her tight enough, close enough or long enough.

  In Emmy’s mind that moment was probably one of the most romantic, passionate kisses she had ever seen. Definitely top ten. She wanted to be wanted like that. She wanted to be in the arms of a man where an embrace wasn’t enough, where he wanted so much more from her. Emmy wanted a man who would hold her as if he wanted to become one with her. Be one with her. She had always dreamed of being wanted with that intensity.

  Yet, if she were honest with herself, Emmy would have admitted that she never expected that she would feel like that in her entire life. Most certainly, it wasn’t a feeling she imagined having within fifteen minutes of meeting a man…especially one she considered completely nuts. She had never felt lust that overwhelmed the senses and brought irrational thoughts and impulses to mind. She believed strong physical attraction was normally the result of getting to know a man. In her romantic experience, a good sense of humor was the most powerful attractor she had ever come across.

  With this laird, Connor, she wanted more than anything just to feel those strong arms wrapped around her, holding her tightly with all the desperation and desire she had seen in his eyes. More than anything, she knew that one kiss with him would be the most memorable experience of her life.

  “Ohh!” she moaned burying her head in her hands once again. “What I am doing? I am such a nitwit!”

  “I would probably have to agree on that point,” Dorcas volunteered as she poured herself yet another cup of tea while Ian slipped out of the room after his brother. “You shouldn’t have said that to him. Now he’ll be a horrific boar for days and days. Not that he is ever in good humor, mind you. You’ve only made it worse. More tea?”

  “You should really back off on that stuff. That much caffeine isn’t good for you.” Emmy commented as she slouched back in her chair and sipped her own iced tea.

  Not even realizing the other woman was repeating ‘caffeine’ to her even as she glowered at Emmy’s posture, Emmy muttered to herself. “What am I supposed to do now? I’m sure I missed the ferry back to Oban by now.”

  “You should really sit up properly. Your posture is simply atrocious,” Dorcas scolded as if she couldn’t help herself earning a glare in return from Emmy.

  “You said that already,” Emmy told her.

  “Then you must accept it as fact.” Dory pursed her lips and considered Emmy thoughtfully. “In truth, I am most curious how you arrived here today. There was no ferry from Oban today and Connor noted there was no carriage on the road when you arrived here. Did you walk from Craignure then? It is a long distance.”

  “I didn’t walk. I took the shuttle.” Emmy rubbed her hand over her face as if she could massage this all away. “I’m not sure where it went either. Ugh, this is crazy! Like a bad dream!”

  “Well, it is late. Perhaps after a night’s rest everything will be clearer. Worry not, as long as Connor believes you are Heather, you will have a place to stay at least,” Dory offered patting her hand.

  That got Emmy’s attention. “What do you mean ‘as long as Connor believes’? Don’t you think I’m this Heather person?”

  Dorcas’s eyes narrowed on Emmy and questioned in return. “Don’t you think I would know my own twin no matter how long she’d been gone?”

  “So you know I’m not her.”

  Dorcas nodded. “You are not.”

  “What makes you so sure? And why didn’t you tell Connor that?”

  “The Heather I knew would never come back to Duart. She disliked Connor on sight and had absolutely no intention of marrying him. She was unable to stop that but ran away while he waited for her to ready herself for his bed. She would be a fool to come back after this time and she was no fool.” Dorcas sipped and regarded Emmy curiously. “And I did not tell him so, not only because he would not believe it no matter how vehemently I assured him it was so but also because I am curious who you truly are. Moreover, what reason you have for coming here now, today of all days? Can you answer that?”

  “I’m afraid I can’t so that just yet,” was Emmy’s truthful confession.

  “Well, Connor will be expecting you to stay until you can, so we might as well see you settled in.” Dorcas heaved herself from the settee belly first and preceded her to the door motioning for her to follow. “Since you had no other bags with you I guess I will have to lend you some proper clothing. But it is late and such things can be accomplished in the morning.”

  “Bags? I have bags! They are safe in my little hotel room across the sound.” Emmy made a little rowing motion with her hands. “Safely back in the twenty-first…” she clamped her mouth shut quickly. “Any clothes you can offer would be appreciated, I guess. At least I have my toothbrush.”

  Dorcas led the way back up the stairs and through a labyrinth of hallways to the room where Emmy had been before. Reaching up inside the door, she twisted the knob on a large wall sconce and a small flame grew in the globe lighting the room. “Gaslights?” Emmy asked.

  “Aye, all the main and family rooms are lit and a very nice convenience it is. Since the MacLean’s regained possession of the lands and castle, the laird has been doing much to restore the castle as his father, the first Connor MacLean had before him. He recently had the entire castle plumbed with all the modern conveniences.” She indicated a doorway to the right and peeking in Emmy saw a large bat
hroom with a sink, commode and claw foot tub, all looking terribly Victorian, historic and, thankfully, familiar. At least she wasn’t going to have to use an outhouse, chamber pot or any other equally awkward or distasteful substitute.

  “The room is lovely,” Emmy offered. It was, in fact. Probably a classic example of Victorian décor. The bed was a large four post bed but the posts, headboard and footboard were all intricately carved in scrolling floral motifs. The bedding and curtains were a lovely lilac gray silk though more frilly and lacy than Emmy tended to like things. There was a dressing table and pair of upholstered chairs, wood framed and delicate, near the fire. Overall, it was aesthetically pleasing.

  Dorcas, however, offered a short snort. “You should have seen this place ten years ago. It was a near ruin and almost uninhabitable. The work done since then has truly transformed the property. Your dressing room is through there,” Dorcas pointed out another door farther along the wall. “I will have my maid bring you a nightgown now and other clothing in the morning as well as a few gowns to choose from.”

  “Gowns?” Now Emmy was the one repeating words.

  “Aye, we dress for dinner and you will be expected to join us tomorrow evening.”

  “If I’m still here,” she murmured under her breath then shrugged. “Well, I haven’t worn a ‘gown’ since I went to the Sigma Chi Sweetheart Ball in college.” Emmy chuckled with rueful humor. “It’ll be just like prom night.”

  Dorcas again looked puzzled by the mysterious words, but simply shook her head. “The American terminology you’ve adopted is most strange. The bellpull is over there next to the bed. I will assign a maid to aid you. Breakfast is served until eleven in the morning. I would advise that you do not attempt to flee into the night. That would only serve to upset the laird more.”

  “I have nowhere else to go,” Emmy answered honestly. Truly she was stuck here until she could find a way back to the ferry, to her hotel…to her own time.

  Emmy stripped down to her camisole and panties, found her toothbrush in her tote and made use of the quaint bathroom. After trying the chain pull on the toilet several times, she washed her face, brushed her long hair and put it in a ponytail. A maid brought her a long, conservative nightgown which she donned over her underclothes as the maid ogled them curiously and got into bed as the girl left turning down the light as she went. She lie cozened down in the deep feather mattress and warm comforters, thanked God for the warm flannel nightgown and tried to plan her departure. But thoughts of escape were not what came to her mind. Instead visions of the laird filled her.

  This man, this laird, Connor MacLean, was unlike any man she had met before. He was raw masculinity, not just in his bulging muscles and rough handsomeness, but in his demeanor. He was a ruler and not in a tidy corporate CEO kind of way. It was powerful and magnetic. Emmy was fairly certain that he did not have a feminine side let alone one that he was in touch with, but just the same, his dominating persona was fascinating.

  “Connor,” she whispered imagining him sweeping her into his arms. “Why would any woman want to leave you?” she wondered aloud. If he engendered feelings such as these in most females, he must be surrounded by women. Of course, it was possible that he was a serious asshole or something. Possible. Likely? She wasn’t sure.

  Trying to focus on the negative, Emmy again found herself wondering about the other possibilities Connor represented. “Ugh!” she moaned burying her head in the pillow. “I will never again go five years without sex if this is how the first hot guy I see affects me!” she promised herself and slid into a night of erotic dreams excited by the sound of rain and thunder from outside.

  Connor leaned against the door that connected his own with those where Heather now slept. The earl’s suite. He wasn’t sure why he had brought her to those rooms earlier, the countess’ chambers. What had possessed him to open them up again other than the fact that she had come back? But he had and just knowing that a mere door separated them was driving him mad.

  He could not remember wanting Heather so badly before. When he had first met Heather, she had just arrived at Duart for their wedding. It was arranged, of course. The wish of his father and hers. Heather had been dismayed by him upon their introduction, though he had never known why. She had been pretty, but shy and haughty. He had felt no great desire for her; only resolve to have the thing done. He had spent a day with her, giving her a tour of the castle. It had been a near ruin at that time with the restoration his father had planned in its infant stages. She had been distressed with her future home as well. She had been withdrawn yet critical. Disdainful of everything at Duart, including him. The next day, he had stood with her before the altar and said his vows knowing it made her as miserable as it did himself.

  And then she had been gone.

  Now she had returned. It was if she had become a different person in the intervening years. Of course, she had been just a girl then, not the woman she was now. Time had served her well. Her appeal and the attraction he felt for her now were strong. Stronger than any he could remember ever experiencing in his life. He desired her. No, he simply wanted her. What she had said downstairs tore through him again. She had come back to be with him. Why? Why now? On this day? The questions stopped him. Held him. He could open this door now and demand his rights as a husband everyone thought him to be. Complete what had not been consummated before. Gain relief from the lust that held him in its thrall.

  But he knew what held him back.

  He needed to talk to her but he also needed to talk to his solicitor. Only his solicitor, Conrad Baines, was aware that Connor had had this marriage annulled two years ago. Only Mr. Baines knew the woman next door was in fact, no longer his wife in truth or under law. He didn’t know why he had lied to her other than pure rage at her appearance. Perhaps it had been curiosity over her arrival or…something else. He didn’t know what is was but it served those mysterious purposes to have her think of him as her husband.

  Chapter 6

  Emmy woke early the next morning stretching out muscles left tight from sleeping on the soft mattress. Bright sunshine poured through the tiny windows of the outer embattlements facing the east. Years of residency had trained her to get her sleep when she could and to function on very little of it. By habit and training, she was a light sleeper and early riser. She lie for a moment in the cocoon of the feather bed warm and cozy while the nip on her cheeks suggested the air in the room was much colder.

  Emmy rose and quickly dressed in her clothes from the previous day. Making quick use of the bathroom, brushing her teeth and twisting her hair up in a claw clip, she was soon slipping out the door. None of the others had yet to awaken or perhaps it all been a dream, she thought as she crept down the hall from her room without seeing another soul. Maybe the vision of Connor on horseback had been a hallucination from which she was only just now recovering and the rest merely a bizarre, stress-induced dream. It could now be 2010 as it should be and she was here at Duart on vacation…

  A maid in a long gray, Victorian dress, white apron and cap on her Grecian knot crossed the hall carrying an armload of linens and Emmy knew the dream was indeed reality.

  What to do? The never-ending question again pounded in her mind like the beating of a drum. Duart, she thought. 1895. She still had no real idea how it had happened beyond a government experiment gone wrong. Coping with her circumstances was top priority.

  Logically she knew she should pretend to be this Heather MacLean as long as she could get away with it. She was lost in time. If she fought the battle and the laird accepted that she wasn’t his wife, she would be left without a place to stay or food to eat. That was something she could not afford to happen with the cold weather of the season. Of course, she also had no money to support herself in this time. The pounds and pence she had in her purse would only draw suspicion that Emmy wasn’t prepared to defend against.

  She needed to figure out how to get back but wasn’t sure where to start. In the meantime she wou
ld do what she had to even if it meant deceiving the entire castle. Better that than the nightmare of burning at the stake.

  Emmy started to tiptoe toward the stairs before she shook her head for being such a ninny. Was she truly trying to sneak around this castle? It was so big her chances of meeting another person were pretty slim. Straightening, Emmy strode more confidently taking in the décor of the castle as she went.

  The halls were paneled in intricately carved rosewood with lovely, fragile sconces lighting the hall at intervals. Plush carpet runners padded the wood floor and artwork dotted the walls. The staircase was another example of fine woodworking with its hand-carved spindles and elaborate newel posts. The hall below was lit by an enormous chandelier that bounced light off the polished marble floors.

  It was all very extraordinary and indicated a wealth that boggled Emmy’s mind. And, oddly, it all looked brand new as if it had just been completed. Emmy knew the MacLean’s had only returned to Duart in the past twenty years from this historic date having recovered the castle after centuries. Duart had been a near ruin on its recovery by the clan, she knew from her guidebook, but now she wondered to what extent it had been rebuilt. Perhaps she would find the courage to ask Connor.

  Emmy opened the big front door slipping silently into the dim Scots morning. The rising sun from the coast side of the castle cast the courtyard and outer walls in its long shadow lighting on patches of fog around the sides of the building. The castle itself was a thick U shape. The central section she exited from reached out with two deep wings on either side. On one side the building was five stories high. The rear and opposite side only three and the top end of the U the wings created was closed by a tall defensible wall with only an ornamental iron gate leading to the entrance she’d arrived at the day before.