The Highlander's Bargain

by Barbara Longley

  Warmth spread through his chest, and once again he covered her wee hand with his, marveling at the feel of her soft skin next to his callused palm. “Alethia Goodsky was sent to us from your time. We call her True for many reasons, one being she is a truth-sayer. She has the ability to discern whether or no’ a person speaks truly, and occasionally she has visions of the future. Her gifts have saved our clan more than once. The faerie who sent her to us—”

  “Whoa. Hold up.” She stopped walking and gaped at him wide-eyed. “Faerie?”

  “Och, aye, one of the ancient ones, the Tuatha Dé Danann.” He nudged her into motion again. “Madame Giselle poses as a fortune-teller at fairs like this one.” He nodded to the surrounding area. “She stole Alethia from your time and sent her to ours so that she might save the life of a young orphaned lad who needed her special kind of help. He has the blood of the fae running through his veins, as does she. ’Tis why she has the gift. True is wed to my cousin Malcolm now. They have a daughter and another bairn on the way. Plus, they’ve adopted Hunter, the lad whose life she saved. The lad is also gifted.”

  A stunned expression suffused Erin’s lovely features, and she brought her hand up to press against her mouth.

  “What is it, lass? What troubles you?”

  She shook her head and averted her gaze. “Nothing. It’s just . . . well, it’s all kind of difficult to believe.”

  “I speak naught but the truth.” He suspected there was more to her reaction than that, but he let it go. “We found Lady True all alone and fast asleep by the side of the road. I believe my cousin fell in love with her that very moment.” He smiled. “Believe you me, she led him on a merry chase. Malcolm did his best to keep her safe and by his side, but she wouldn’t have it. ’Twas quite entertaining.”

  “For you.” She bumped her shoulder against his. “Probably not so much for him.”

  “To be sure.” He chuckled. “Malcolm’s beleaguered heart nearly faltered more than once. Our True has a propensity for placing herself in harm’s way, but only to protect those she loves.” They’d come to a circle of fairgoers oohing and aahing as they watched something going on in the center. The familiar metallic ring of sword upon sword came to him. “Another show?”

  “Yep. Sword fighting. It’s very popular.”

  “I would see this exhibition, if you dinna mind stopping.”

  “By all means.”

  The crowd let them through easily enough once they saw how they were garbed. Robley watched the two knights. The rush he always got at the possibility of engaging in swordplay raced through his veins. Their form was sloppy and their technique poor by his standards.

  “You call this swordplay?” he shouted. The two knights glanced his way. He thrust out his chest in challenge. “I call it child’s play.” The two stopped their mock battle, the glint in their eyes unmistakable.

  “Think you to challenge us, both blooded knights?” the one wearing a black tunic under his chain mail shouted back, strutting toward him. His crest was embroidered in gold thread upon his breast.

  “Aye, and both at once.” Robley drew his claymore, striding forward to meet him. “You two fight like squires, no’ blooded knights,” he threw out. “Unless by blooded you mean easily defeated. I’ve no’ yet spent time in the lists this day. ’Twill provide me with a bit of sport, nothing more.” He flexed his shoulders, rotated his neck and sent his sword turning in a series of arcs to warm up. “Do ye accept the challenge, lads?”

  His opponents watched his movements, their expressions eager. He took up a battle-ready stance. “Come then. I vow to disarm you both.”

  They both lunged for him at once, their swords swinging wildly. Robley blocked one blow, then the other. He planted his foot in the center of the black knight’s chest and sent him flying, pivoting to engage the single opponent coming at him. Bringing the edge of his claymore against the other man’s blade, he circled it, waited for his opponent’s wrist to assume just the right position, pivoted and applied pressure. The knight’s sword flew from his hand. The spectators applauded and cheered. The lad bowed slightly, retrieved his weapon and backed away.

  Robley turned to face the more skilled, larger knight. “Have at me, squire.”

  The knight in black laughed. “Squire is it? I shall reduce you to mincemeat before the hour is done.” He circled him in a boastful stride, looking Robley over with a scornful smirk.

  “Come then. Dinna waste my time.” Robley stood his ground, looking bored. Letting loose a battle cry, the man came at him. Robley blocked his blows and worked him back with several well-placed strikes. Gleefully, he settled in for some much-needed physical exertion. “I am called Robley,” he said in an even tone, making a point of showing that his breathing hadn’t yet deepened. “By what name are you known, squire?” Steel on steel rang out, and the crowd widened the circle to accommodate them.

  “My name is Mark. Mark Pilon.”

  “Ah, a Norman. I’ve fought side by side with Normans against the Sassenach many a time. We are allies.”

  “True enough.” Mark began a series of offensive moves, taking Robley by surprise for an instant, before he retaliated with his own tried-and-true tactics. Shutting out everything else, he set himself to his task, to the battle of wits and brawn. His muscles were warm and loosened, and he drew a long, slow breath, savoring the activity.

  Swordplay, hand-to-hand combat, jousting and hunting had always been his favorite pursuits. He thrived on action and exertion. The sense of accomplishment following a good bout never failed to bring him contentment. Aye, physical activities, including a tumble or two with one of the village widows, were all that had kept him sane this past year.

  Mark dripped with sweat and breathed heavily, grunting with each blow he parried and with each strike of his sword.

  “More time in the lists will build your stamina, lad,” Robley taunted. Mark’s glance darted toward Erin. Robley scowled. Did she glance back? He couldn’t risk finding out. Time to end this, though he was nowhere near expending his strength. Making short work of it, he divested his opponent of his weapon and bowed to the calls of “huzzah” from the spectators as they began to wander off.

  Mark sheathed his sword and bent over, placing his hands on his knees for several moments to catch his breath. He straightened and approached. “Man, you have some moves. Where’d you learn to fight like that?”

  “My da placed a wooden sword in my hands when I was but three or four winters, and I’ve been training ever since.” He clasped his defeated opponent’s proffered forearm briefly. “I fostered under the earl of Seakirk and earned my spurs by the time I turned ten and six.”

  Mark swiped a sleeve across his brow and turned to Erin, embarrassment at having been soundly thrashed, and longing for her, plain to see.

  Jealousy, swift and hot, churned through Robley, until he too looked at the lady. Her eyes met his and fairly glowed with appreciation. Lucky for Mark, or he’d have been forced to continue their mock battle, just to pummel the man into the ground. “I’m from the—”

  “He’s from Scotland.” She came to his side and slipped her arm through his. “Robley is staying for a month. He’s on vacation.”

  “A month? Great. Maybe we can work out together, and you can teach me some of your moves.”

  “Mayhap we can arrange to meet again for that purpose. ’Tis up to Erin. She’s my—”

  “Host. I’m hosting him while he’s visiting.” Erin nodded. “We’re distant cousins.”

  Cousins? Vacation? Robley arched a brow at her, eliciting a blush and a stern look on her part.

  “Yeah? Cool.” Mark muttered and glanced around. “Did you see where Jerry went?”

  “Is he the other knight, the first I disarmed?” Smirking, he slid his claymore back into its scabbard. “He’s on yon hill nursing his wounded pride with an ale. I’ve worked up a powerful
thirst as well. Shall we find refreshment, my lady?” He glanced at her and offered his arm. “Would you care for a glass of wine?”

  “Wow, you really do stay in character.” Mark laughed. “I’ll catch you later. Should I call you, Erin?” He shot her a hopeful look. “To get hold of Robley, I mean.”

  “Sure. I’m in the club directory.”

  “OK.” Mark nodded. “Later then.”

  As his rival took his leave, Robley wondered what a club directory might be. The only clubs he knew of were those used in battle to bash in a man’s skull.

  Erin steered him toward a booth with grapes, barley and hops painted on the front. “Don’t tell anyone else you’re a time traveler. They’ll think you’re certifiable.”

  “Humph. I meant only to say I’m from the Scottish Highlands.” Did she think him so foolish as to blurt to all and sundry that he’d recently arrived from the distant past? He’d only told her so freely due to the circumstances, and because he wished to gain her trust. How else to explain his sudden appearance?

  “Oh.” She shrugged as they queued up for refreshments. “Let me order, and give me a ten-dollar bill.”

  “Are you always so managing a female?”

  Her cheeks grew a darker shade of pink. “The word you’re looking for is controlling, and no. I’m not. I was only trying to help. You said you wanted a guide, someone to help you navigate.” She stepped away and gestured toward the counter. “Go for it. I can’t drink anything with alcohol anyway. I’m still on duty.”

  He’d offended her, and the look of hurt he’d glimpsed in her eyes cleaved him in two. He’d have to take more care with her tender feelings in future. Robley studied the placard on the wall behind the serving wench. He told her what he wanted and peeled off the requisite bills from the currency True had given him.

  The lass placed two flimsy cups on the counter and handed him a few coins, which he dropped into his sporran. Some of the ale sloshed over the sides when he made the mistake of gripping the cup too firmly. Taking a few gulps, he moved out of the way and walked over to where Erin waited under the shade of a large oak.

  “’Tis good ale and so cold.” He drank deeply again and sighed. “Quite refreshing.” He handed her the other container. “I brought you a lemonade, lass. What is this called?” He tapped the container holding the amber liquid.

  “Thank you.” She took the refreshment, a pleased expression lighting her face. “It’s called a plastic Solo cup. Don’t ask what it’s made of, because I can’t explain it to you.” She smiled and took a drink. “So what do you think of our Renaissance festival?”

  “’Tis no’ so very different from our fairs in appearance, except for the way the villagers are dressed. We also have performers and merchants who sell their wares, but mostly it’s a time to gather the clans together to trade surplus crops for needed commodities. Our fairs are about commerce and coming together to celebrate the harvest. We dinna charge anyone to enter.” He gestured to the goings on about him. “This is naught but a thespian’s arena.”

  “Trust me, Robley. It’s all about commerce here as well. I earn money playing the role of lady-in-waiting. We all earn money playing a role, as do the participants selling their art. It’s meant to be fun. Wait until you see a grocery store. We don’t really need to come together to sell surplus crops anymore, and maybe that’s not such a good thing.” She frowned. “There are local farmers’ markets though. Come on. There’s more to see.”

  They passed the rest of the afternoon witnessing one wonder after another, and though he wouldn’t admit it to Erin, weariness had taken hold. He was ready to be free of the endless sea of humanity and the incessant noise. But oh, the tales he’d tell once he returned home. He’d ridden an elephant and a camel. Erin had captured the images on the strange device she kept in her pocket, and she’d promised to print the pictures for him. True had the same kind of device, which she referred to as a smartphone. He wanted a closer look.

  “I’m off duty now,” Erin said. “Are you sure you don’t want to try the bungee cord jump before we leave?”

  He glanced at the people dangling and bouncing from the stretchy ropes attached to a tower. As a youth, he’d never been one to swing on a rope out over the loch with the other lads. Doing so made him ill. Just watching the spectacle sent a shudder through him. “I’m certain. If it pleases you, I’m ready to leave.”

  “All right. We have to go back to the area where we met. I want to change into my street clothes. Then it’s off to Target for a few pairs of jeans, T-shirts, sweatshirts, shoes and grooming stuff. That should do for a few weeks. Didn’t you say your friend gave you her debit card?”

  “Aye, and she said there is quite a bit of money in her account, all she earned working during the summer and her tuition funding for school.”

  “Great. We’ll use it to pay for your stuff, but since it’s in a woman’s name, I’d better take care of checking out. It’ll look suspicious for a man to use a debit card with a woman’s name on the front.” She headed for the back of the fairgrounds where the club kept a trailer for changing and taking breaks.

  “Do I no’ have enough currency to make the necessary purchases?”

  Her eyes narrowed. “You don’t trust me?”

  “Och, lass. I do, but I’m a man. I should pay. Tongues will wag if—”

  “Seriously?”

  Her expression cleared, and her smile precipitated a rush of desire so great he nearly stumbled over his own feet. He wanted to taste that lovely smile, to delve into the sweetness of her enticing mouth. He fought for control. If she had any idea how her nearness affected him, he feared she’d abandon him. He needed to gain her trust, and lusting after her was not the way to do so.

  They stopped before a wagon of sorts, not unlike those used by the wandering Romany he’d oft spied on the roads in France. Only this was constructed out of some kind of flimsy metal. Erin disappeared, leaving him to settle his mind and senses. He leaned back against the wagon and closed his eyes. He’d been overwhelmed from the moment he’d stepped foot into the passage between the ages, and he saw no end in sight. ’Twould take some time to adjust.

  Erin walked out of the wagon wearing blue trews like the ones he’d seen True wear when she hunted. The fabric fit Erin like hosiery, and she wore naught but a thin, sleeveless chemise on top. Every curve and contour of her form enticed him, and the revealing garments ignited his blood. His mouth went dry, and it was all he could do to refrain from drawing her into his arms and pressing her up against the wagon.

  “Let’s go,” she said, seemingly unaware of the havoc she wreaked upon him.

  He’d sprung to life below the belt. Shifting his sporran to hide the tenting plaid, he followed her to a gate set in a fence resembling loose chain mail. Desire scorched him from the inside out. Casting about for something else to capture his attention, he halted, placing his hand over the hilt of his dagger.

  Beyond the gate, an endless expanse of wagons in varying shapes, colors and sizes spread out over the field before him, all arranged in neat rows. “Automobiles,” he murmured. “Cars, trucks, SUVs. True spoke of them, but I never imagined . . .” He turned to Erin, excitement tensing every muscle. “Do you have one, lass? Will we depart in such a contraption?”

  “Yes. We will indeed depart in such a contraption.” She laughed. “Oh, this should be good.”

  He gazed out over the spectacle laid out before him. “Aye, it should.”

  She pulled a set of keys from a bag slung over her shoulder and led him to a small silver-colored car. The front end held numerous dents, and so did the back. Rust spots under each door caught his eye. Compared to the sleek, shiny automobiles on either side, he guessed hers to be quite a bit older and much abused. “Is it safe, lass?”

  “Of course. My car got me here, didn’t it?” She opened a compartment at the back. “Take off your sword and
stow it in here, the dagger too. You can’t wear them inside the store.”

  “Must I?”

  “You must. You’ll catch on soon enough. People don’t walk around carrying an arsenal unless they’re police officers.”

  She waited while he unfastened his claymore. Wrapping the leather belt around the scabbard, he placed it inside the storage space. Next he removed his dagger from the sheath at his waist and tossed it in beside his sword. Naked. Without his weapons he was rendered vulnerable in this strange place. Never had he traveled without them within easy reach.

  She closed the compartment and rounded the car to unlock a door. “Get in, and prepare for the ride of your life.”

  Swinging the opened door wide, he studied the tight space, doubtful he’d be able to fold himself onto the wee seat. Still, he climbed in, and his knees pressed against the front.

  “I’m sorry.” Erin cast him a sympathetic look. “I should’ve adjusted the seat before you got in. Reach underneath the front. There’s a lever. Pull it up and you can give yourself more leg room.”

  Robley did as she directed, and the seat slid back. “Better. My thanks.”

  “Buckle up.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “I keep forgetting this is all new to you.” Erin leaned over him and pulled a strap across his chest.

  He inhaled deeply, taking in the soft, sweet scent unique to her, letting it settle into his soul for all time. “I must be strapped in for this ride? For certes, my head is spinning with all I’ve seen and experienced this day.”

  “You could probably use a break.” She fastened the strap and studied him. “After Target, I’ll take you to a motel near where I live. Once we get you settled into a room, we’ll head to Fat Lorenzo’s for pizza.”

  “A motel?” Pizza? Target?

  “It’s like an inn. You pay to stay there in a private room.”

  Suddenly overtaken with it all, he didn’t even try to grasp anything else she’d said, other than she planned to leave him. What if she never came back? “I canna stay with you, lass?”