by Pam Binder
“Lachlan, do you have one more minute?”
Chapter 6
Lachlan turned around. A fresh pie sailed through the air and splattered on his face. Berries clung to his hair, chunks of crust stuck to his bread and juice drizzled down his chin. He stared at her. His eyebrows seemed to knit together. Amber heard the woman behind the pastries gasp and noticed Gavin and MacDougal, coming toward her.
Lachlan wiped the dripping juice from his face. “I would have the reason.”
The woman leaned forward. “The fat is in the fire now, milady.”
Amber shrugged. “I’m not worried.”
Looking concerned, Gavin stood beside her and frowned. “Are you sure?”
She took a deep breath. “Pretty sure.”
Lachlan crossed the distance that separated them and looked down at her. “I would have my question answered.”
MacDougal sniffed around their feet, looking for pie crumbs. She scratched the animal behind his ear. The distraction gave her time to think. She had forgotten for a few seconds that she was not in the twentieth century. What would happen to someone who pelted a laird with a pie? She looked over at Sara who was trying to appear busy with a new customer. She probably figured her master would be able to handle a disrespectful subject all by himself. The other people either hadn’t noticed, or were choosing to look the other way.
Lachlan folded his arms across his chest. “Well?”
“Well, what? You were acting like the end of the world was about thirty minutes away. I decided you needed something else to think about.”
He raised an eyebrow. “That is your reason for covering me with berries?”
“You are not completely covered, and besides you were taking yourself too seriously.”
He licked the juice off his lips. “Do you always try to change that of which you disapprove?”
She nodded her head and smiled. “Pretty much.”
“It is a dangerous trait.” He attempted to pull chunks of sticky fruit out of his beard.
Amber reached up and flicked a piece of piecrust off his shoulder. “But, it worked.”
“True enough. But I am thinking that in the future when I do something that displeases you, I would prefer you just tell me.”
“Food gets your attention.”
“Aye, it does at that.” He looked at her speculatively. “What is to be done with you?”
There was a difference in the tenor of his voice. It no longer reminded her of an impending storm. She returned his gaze. The corners around his eyes had softened and he was actually smiling. It took her completely by surprise.
“Your method of getting my attention put to waste one of Sara’s pies, and turned my beard as red as Marcail’s roses. The stain will be with me until May Day.“ He motioned to Gavin. ”There is a stream nearby. I am in need of water to wash this off my face.“
Gavin reached for a bucket near Sara’s table. He raced down a path into the woods, with the dog close behind.
Sara put more pies out on the table. “Don’t you be worrying about the sweets, milord. The juice will come out with a good scrubbing.” She shoved a linen towel into Amber’s hand. “You are lucky the laird has a generous spirit. His father would have had you whipped.” Her expression darkened. “Or worse.”
Amber hesitated. Now, there was a happy thought. Lachlan stood as still as an oak tree as she reached up and began cleaning the juice out of his beard. The hair was sticky and matted together. There was a fierce scowl on his face, but his eyes held the glint of laughter. She felt her courage return.
“Have you ever considered shaving?”
Out of the corner of her eye, Amber saw Sara back away from the table.
“My beard is as much a part of me as the Highlands.”
Amber remembered a teacher at her school who’d shaved his mustache when he’d lost a bet. It had taken the man a month to recover. She didn’t understand men’s obsession with facial hair, but then, they didn’t understand a woman’s love of chocolate.
Gavin returned with the water. It sloshed over the sides of the bucket as he tried to lift it.
Lachlan poured the water over his head, then shook himself. Droplets of water sprayed the air. “So you would have me change my serious ways and remove my beard as well? You ask much.”
“I just thought it would be easier to get the stain out if you cut off your beard.”
He advanced toward her. “ ‘Tis more than that.”
Amber backed toward the mound of pastry on the table, putting distance between herself and Lachlan. There was a mischievous look about him that warmed her heart and heightened her awareness of him. She felt the back of the table through the layers of material she wore.
“Okay, I admit it. I hate your beard. There, I’ve said it. It makes you appear like a menacing bear instead of a man. What are you going to do about it?”
His laughter startled her. Then without warning, he reached behind her and grabbed a handful of berries from an earthenware bowl. The juice oozed through his fingers. He winked.
“And I hate the tunic Una gave you to wear. The color does not suit you.”
Before she could react, Lachlan dumped the berries onto the front of her dress. She felt the juice soaking through to her skin.
He folded his arms across his chest, looking thoroughly pleased with himself. “They have improved your appearance.”
She grimaced to herself. Of course he would think that. Her dress was plastered to her chest. Well, this game was not over. She pasted on her sweetest smile and reached for the berries. He grabbed for her hand, but it was too late.
Amber spread a fresh layer of fruit over his face.
“I yield.” Lachlan ducked as a fruit pie sailed past his head. Amber had lethal aim. His beard was now as red as Angus‘. MacDougal sat beside her, barking at him as though Lachlan were a vanquished enemy. Gavin cheered as Sara handed Amber another pastry. His brother gave a triumphant yell, then called to the dog. The animal bounded to his feet and chased after Gavin in the direction of men who were engaged in a stone tossing contest. Obviously, Gavin had decided the entertainment his older brother provided was over. Traitors, the lot of them.
Lachlan tried to brush the berries off his shirt, but only succeeded in spreading the fruit over a wider surface. Covered in juice herself, the blasted woman held a pie balanced on the tips of her fingers, looking arrogant, victorious and… delicious. He smiled, feeling the sun warm on his back and the laughter and hum of activity around him. He adjusted his plaid on his shoulder and purposefully circled Amber in a wide arc. He wanted to prolong the moment, and the feeling. Besides, her expression told him if he made the slightest move toward another pie, she was ready with one of her own. Battle had never been this much fun. Her eyes, filled with laughter, almost robbed him of breath. He did not care the forces that brought her to him, only that she was here with him now.
“Brother?”
Elaenor’s voice broke through his thoughts. She ran toward him, but stopped abruptly when she saw Amber. His sister’s mouth formed a perfect circle and her eyes turned from him, to Amber, and back.
“Her dress is in ruins. What has happened?”
Out of the corner of his eyes he saw Amber hand the pastry back to Sara and walk toward him. His sister was not far from the truth. Amber’s dress was covered with large patches of red berry juice. He was pleased.
Amber brushed her arm against him. She did it in away that seemed as natural as breathing. Her touch made him feel as though they shared a secret. He took a deep breath. The air around him felt as it did the night before a battle, heavy with anticipation.
Licking the berry juice off her fingers, she looked over at Elaenor. “How was the performance?”
A moment ago he had not thought it possible for his sister’s face to look more confused. He had been wrong. He searched Amber’s expression for any regret over missing the puppet show. Whatever had been there in the past had vanished. However, not wanti
ng to chance fate, and before Elaenor could untie her tongue and answer, he reached for his leather coin pouch. It jingled as he put it in Amber’s hand.
“Purchase whatever you desire. All I ask is that the color be bright”
She smiled and turned toward the area of the festival where vendors hawked their wares.
Someone slapped him on the back. He turned. “Angus.”
His friend scratched the whiskers on his neck and nodded toward Amber. “From the look of you, she would be a welcome addition to our troops. Her aim is true. What did you say that caused such action?”
“You assume I am the cause.”
Angus raised his eyebrow.
Lachlan would get little sympathy from his friend. He watched Amber walk toward a cluster of women who haggled over the price of a live chicken. She glanced over her shoulder and waved.
Angus smiled. “A bonnie lass, that one. Careful lad, your heart shows in your eyes.”
“She is my betrothed.”
Angus’ laughter was deep. “You no more believe those words than those who say that Darnley makes a good king.“
“There is a vast difference between the two.”
“Aye, we can do nothing about Darnley.”
Lachlan straightened. “Mark well, any decision regarding the Lady Amber will be mine alone.” He felt a slight increase in his pulse. The possessiveness he felt surprised him.
Angus stepped back and held his arms out. “Ease down, lad, I meant nothing by the remark. She is a woman of no small character. The castle still hums with how she exposed the cruelty of Gavin’s tutor. I am pleased. You have tasted more honey than a hive full of bees these past years. ‘Tis time you settled upon one.”
Lachlan took a ragged breath, trying to cool his temper. It grew harder to control with each day’s passing. He wished his manner was more like his friend’s. Hoping to change the course of the conversation he motioned for Angus to join him, and headed in the direction of a path that led to the River Ness. He rubbed his chest. The juice of the berries soaking through his shirt felt sticky on his skin. His beard was matted together.
“You have not mentioned Myra of late, Angus. How does she fare these days?”
His friend fell in beside him, his steps sounding heavy on the well trod path. “Myra is well enough, but too weak to travel. I shall return in the spring and stay with her until she dies.”
Lachlan heard the pain in his friend’s voice. He was looking toward the growth of trees and light underbrush as if searching for an answer. He put his hand on Angus’ shoulder.
“I am sorry.”
Angus shrugged. “The years have been good to Myra and me. All things die.”
“Except us.”
Angus’ voice was little more than a whisper. “Aye, except us.”
The water sparkled through the trees and a squirrel ran along a fallen log. That Angus loved his Myra there was little doubt, but Lachlan had not expected his friend to feel such loss at her passing. He had been taught from the beginning that their kind were incapable of mourning those who died before them. Lachlan tore off a small twig, reached for the blade he kept strapped to his calf, and sliced off slivers of wood. He trimmed the blunted end into a point. Angus’ reaction was unsettling and comforting at the same time. A vision of Amber throwing a fruit-filled pie at him made him smile. The woman he had pulled from Loch Ness had a way about her that distracted him, and made him feel whole. Perhaps that was what Angus had found with Myra.
He tossed die stick into the grass, sheathed his knife and walked to the water’s edge. Removing his clothes, he plunged into the freezing river. Breaking the surface he shook the water out of his hair. It felt like an icy wind flowed through his veins, but his skin was free of the sticky fruit. He hurried back to shore.
Angus handed him his clothes. “It might be well to cut off your beard, and start anew.”
Lachlan wrapped his plaid around his waist and over his shoulder. “It would please the Lady Amber if I rid my face of the beard. She is not in favor of it.”
“That would be reason enough for me.”
“Is there nothing you would not do for a woman?”
Angus rubbed his beard. “Nay, lad. Not for a woman I want.”
Lachlan bent over and picked up his belt and weapons. Of course, Angus was thinking with his heart, not his head. His love for Myra clouded reason. Lachlan strapped his sword in place.
“There are things that take precedence. And what of war?”
“Your zeal for battle exceeds my own. But you head the Council of Seven, and all know you take the responsibility as your birthright.”
Lachlan watched a fish swim close to the surface. Its scales glittered like newly made chain mail. The trout was locked in the confines of the pond’s dimensions. He felt the same, drowning in traditions blurred by the passage of time. There were moments when he wanted to accomplish so much, to break out of the rules that governed his people. He picked up a smooth stone and skimmed it across the water. The ripples spread and multiplied.
“What if I were to take a bride?”
Angus’ expression was serious. “To join to produce children with an outsider is forbidden. But a marriage might be allowed, as long as the joining ceremony and Elixir of Life were not part of the bargain. And how would you explain to the Lady Amber, that, while she grew old, you stayed as you are now? A man who appears to be thirty and some years?”
The wind rustling through the trees blended with the muffled sound of the festival. The world seemed out of focus to him in that moment, more illusion than reality. He picked up a handful of small rocks and felt their rough edges in his palm.
“Perhaps it should be considered.”
Angus’ sharp intake of breath could be heard over the rustling of the leaves. “Rebellious words.”
Lachlan felt the worn edges of the leather-wrapped hilt of his sword. “History is marked by those who have, at times, resorted to traitorous acts in order to bring about change. You were not allowed to many Myra, even though I know the love you have for her is great.”
The lines across Angus’ forehead deepened. “Not great enough to give up my immortality. Perhaps, in time, you can encourage change for those who seek it.”
“Encourage it? I shall order it be allowed. We live as if isolated, keeping to ourselves like a secret society, allowing only certain of our number to venture beyond our boundaries.”
Angus put his hand on Lachlan’s shoulder. “I see the years have not mellowed your temper.”
“My survival is dependent on keeping my mind alert. You would best remember that as well.” He looked past the quiet woods. “These festivals are too tame for my taste.”
Shouts broke through the laughter of the celebrations. Lachlan turned toward the sound. They headed back up the path.
“Hurry. Already the sunlight fades and we have yet to join the game.”
“Of what nature? Jousting, fencing?”
Lachlan called over his shoulder. “ ‘Tis more of a challenge than that.”
The room over the Rose and Thistle Tavern was well lit. Amber stood at the window, staring into the black darkness of the night sky as the seamstress, Grizel, altered her gown. All the celebrations of the festival had moved inside. As soon as she was finished getting dressed, she intended to get something to eat downstairs.
“I don’t know why I let you talk me into buying this dress.” She glanced over at Elaenor, who sat perched on the bed, a Cheshire cat grin plastered over her face.
“Lachlan will love your new red gown.”
“What little there is of it.”
Amber stared back at her reflection in the small wood-framed mirror on the wall,. The words, “plunging neckline,” came instantly to mind. She was revealing cleavage she didn’t know she had. During her travel back in time, she must have lost some crucial brain cells. Here she was, standing in the middle of a room, as Grizel worked on a dress Amber should never have bought in the first place.
She should have selected an outfit slightly more practical. Of course, she did need something to wear after Lachlan ruined the front of her tunic and there hadn’t been that many dresses to chose from at the festival.
Who was she trying to kid? She had picked out this particular number to see if Lachlan’s eyes would pop out when he caught a glimpse of her. But the dress was too big, and had to be taken in. She flinched as the old woman stabbed her skin with the needle. The seamstress was bent over with age, her face weatherworn and creased with wrinkles. But her eyes held a warm glow and her voice was gentle and kind.
“Sorry, milady, m‘ hands are not as nimble as once they were.” Grizel grimaced as she pushed herself off the floor.“ Tis done. Will mat be all? There is a lass in the village whose birthing time draws near. She asks for m’soothing herbs.”
The old woman had done a good job in a short period of time. This dress was easily the most beautiful garment Amber had ever worn. Even for her prom, she’d worn a black, formless sheath with a high neck and Cap sleeves. Her father had approved, and her mother had remarked that it was a dress she could easily shorten and wear to work.
“Lass, I’ll be going now.”
Amber shook herself free from her thoughts and reached for the bag of coins Lachlan had given her.
Grizel shook her head. “Nay, you are the laird’s betrothed and I owe him a debt that is beyond price. He comes to see us often, and we want for nothing.”
She picked up her needles and thread and slowly hobbled toward the door.
When she had left, Amber turned to Elaenor.
“I wanted to pay her. She worked hard, and life can’t be easy for a woman her age. Do you know what she was talking about?”
Elaenor slid off the bed. There was a note of hatred in her voice as she spoke. “Aye, I know well the reason. Some years past, when I was but little more than the age Gavin is now, men came to rid the Highlands of witches.”
Amber felt her blood turn to ice. “Go on.”
Elaenor lit another candle and set it on a table against the wall. “The men who claimed to be doing God’s work had tortured and burned one woman. It was claimed that she could turn the milk of a cow sour by her touch. Grizel and her daughter were accused of having the power to bring the dead back to life with their herbs and potions. When Lachlan received word of what was occurring, he was not pleased.”
