“ ’Tis no’ the month, lass.” Ramsay did his best to keep his tone even and calm so as not to fuel her anxiousness even more. “ ’Tis the year that’s made them different. Come. Ye must get some sleep now. Please.” He wouldna lie to get her to rest. Lying would only make it worse whenever she saw that they were in fact somewhere in the distant past.
Katie grabbed hold of his shoulders and vainly tried to shake him. “This can’t be happening!” she shouted as a tear slipped down her cheek. She angrily swiped it away then punched Ramsay in the chest. “And you made me cry! I never…hardly ever.” She swayed in place and started shaking as she dropped to her knees. Hugging herself, she coughed and hiccupped with uncontrollable sobs. “I never cry.”
Ramsay hated himself for what he’d allowed to happen to Katie. Burning with gut-churning regret, he hurled his spear into the croft, then bent and scooped Katie up into his arms. She fought him, pounding against his chest and kicking. Ramsay ignored her struggles as though she were a child having a temper tantrum. He snugged her tighter against his chest as she wept and keened out sharp pitiful cries that tore at his soul. He strode into the cabin and kicked what was left of the door closed behind him.
He tested the strength of a bench along the back wall with his foot. Good. ’Tis no’ rotted. He lowered himself down to it and propped back into the corner, settling Katie on his lap in the process. Every few seconds, she shuddered and weakly struggled to rise out of his arms. Ramsay just held her closer, barely expending any energy to keep her in his embrace. Finally, she sagged against him, her chest still heaving from her sobs. Her fit of anger spent, she nuzzled her head into the crook of his neck and he pulled a fold of his kilt across her trembling body. ’Twas a warm night but the stone croft was cool, and he feared she might be going into shock. Must keep her warm and safe. Must get her t’sleep.
Katie sniffed and hiccupped as she weakly thumped her fist against his chest again and again. “I hate you.”
He felt more than heard her hoarse ranting. Closing his eyes against her pain and his own pain as well, he quietly endured every word she uttered. Her cries cut him deep and he deserved every wound.
“I honest to God hate you for all this. I hate you for making me cry,” she choked out as she knotted his léine in her fist and curled her hand to her mouth, holding the cloth tight against her lips to muffle her sobs.
“I know, lass. I know. Hush now.” Ramsay made low shushing sounds as he stroked her hair and held her tighter. There was no way the lass could hate him nearly as much as he hated himself right now. “ ’Tis no’ shame in tears, lass,” he whispered with a gentle kiss to the top of her head. “Cry all ye like—I swear ‘twill be our secret. A secret I’ll take to my grave.”
Gradually, Katie quieted, then finally grew still. Her ragged breathing evened out and settled into the smooth soft rhythm of a deep exhausted sleep.
Ramsay pressed another kiss to the top of her head, pausing to breathe in her scent to balm his soul. He shifted back and stared up into the darkness, memorizing the comforting warm weight of her sleeping in his arms.
I will get us back as soon as possible, dear one. I swear it.
The only problem with that resolution was that he knew deep in his heart that once they arrived back in the century in which they belonged, he’d never see Katie again.
Chapter 11
The unrelenting urge to pee forced her eyes open. Katie immediately regretted it. As long as she had her eyes shut, she could rationalize away last night’s experiences as a weird whisky-triggered dream.
“Dammit,” she muttered as a couple of hard blinks cleared her vision and she focused on her surroundings.
Rays of sunlight, alive and swirling with miniscule dust motes, filtered down into whatever place this was that Ramsay had found for shelter. Judging by the depth of the dust on what few pieces of crudely fashioned furniture there were in the room, Katie thought that the structure must have been abandoned for a while. The floor was nothing more than hard-packed dirt and it looked as though the walls were made of mud-covered sod or stacked clumps of earth layered with stones. A hearth of loosely fitted rocks squatted in one corner and broken crockery, shards that looked as though she’d unearthed them on a dig, littered a sagging wooden table in the corner.
Not a weird dream. Last night really happened.
She gingerly pushed up from Ramsay’s chest with painstakingly slow movements, determined not to wake him. She wasn’t ready to deal with him this morning. She needed time alone to wrap her head around all that had happened and figure out how the hell it could possibly be real.
I’m smart. I can figure this out. Somehow, no matter how many times she repeated that inner mantra, she wasn’t quite convinced that she had the capability to figure out this emotionally draining, quantum physics riddle.
The bench creaked with her shifting weight as she eased her feet to the floor. Ramsay’s hand flew to her arm and he jerked upright, immediately alert and scanning their surroundings. “ ’Tis all right, lass. I’m here,” he reassured. His other hand went to the hilt of his dagger and had already partially drawn the blade from the scabbard strapped to his calf.
“Stand down, soldier.” Katie pulled away from him and stood. “I’m fine. I just need to step outside for a minute.” She huffed out a humorless laugh and forced a smile at him. “Our accommodations don’t appear to have any indoor facilities.” The need to relieve herself was forgotten as Ramsay rose from the bench and stepped into one of the beams of sunlight breaking through the shoddy roof. She peered closer and pointed. “What is that and when exactly did you have time to get a tattoo between last night and this morning? And how the hell did your hair get so long in just one night?”
Ramsay touched the right side of his face. Startled recollection and maybe a little regret instantly darkened his already troubled scowl. “All MacDara sons are marked by the goddesses when they take the oath of a protector. ’Tis Bride, Danu, and Scota’s combined symbol and only appears for others t’see when we’re sent through time to do their bidding.” His fingers traced the outline of the blue-black tribal symbol of Celtic knotwork tattooed on his temple, and across the cheekbone beneath his right eye. “ ’Tis how we are recognized by other druid clans as we travel through time. Proof of who we are, ye might say.” He shoved a long dark blond warrior’s braid to his back and shrugged. “And my hair always returns to what it was when I trained with Scota.”
Giving her an unreadable look, he reached out, took hold of her right wrist, and gently turned it, pulling her arm into the sunlight. “And this is how yer identified as my wife so that no harm will come t’ye whene’er yer sent through the ages with me.”
A replica of the same blue-black triple knotwork, although much smaller, was now perfectly emblazoned on the fair skin of Katie’s inner wrist.
Shocked at the violation, Katie clenched her fist and yanked free of Ramsay’s hold. She hugged her forearm to her chest, struggling with the overwhelming mix of emotions barraging her senses. Confusion. Fear. Frustration. Disbelief. She took a step back, sucked in a deep breath, and struggled to control the suddenly nauseating spin of the room.
“How the hell can all this be true?” She jabbed her wrist toward Ramsay then scrubbed at the mark on her skin, succeeding only in making her flesh glow red with the friction. “This cannot be happening,” she hissed between clenched teeth.
“Aye, lass, but it is happening. All of it.” A sorrowful look of loss and extreme weariness deepened the crease between Ramsay’s dark brows. “But take heart,” he added quietly. “As soon as I discover what it is the goddesses wish me t’do and then complete that task, they’ll return us to the future—where ye belong.”
Thank God for that. “I’m going outside to pee.” She hugged herself away from him, rubbing at the ripple of goosebumps on her arms and forcing her hysteria back down to a manag
eable level. Panicking wouldn’t change a damn thing. She jabbed a finger at Ramsay. “You figure out why you’re here and what you’re supposed to do by the time I get back. Got it?”
“I’ll be goin’ outside wi’ ye, lass. I willna leave yer side whilst we’re here. This place…” he paused and allowed his gaze to drift around their surroundings. “I dinna ken the dangers of where we are just yet—but we must take care.”
What Ramsay said made sense, but she’d never be able to pee with him standing guard beside her. “Can you at least stand on the other side of the bush, so I can have a little privacy?”
Ramsay politely bowed to her wishes and motioned toward the door. “Aye, lass. I’ll stand guard in the clearing whilst yer among the trees tendin’ to yer needs. But I ask ye—and ’tis verra important that ye heed what I say whilst we are here—dinna go far from the clearin’, aye? Yer safety depends on it.”
They went outside, and Katie squinted against the bright morning light flooding the clearing. At least it appeared to be summer wherever—and whenever—this was. She glanced down at her favorite T-shirt that had once been a lovely shade of washed-a-thousand-times baby blue. After last night’s events, it was mud-encrusted gray and both it and her favorite skinny jeans with the split knees would never be the same.
“I should make a great impression on the locals,” she muttered under her breath as she squatted behind a dense leafy bush that she prayed wasn’t poison sumac. The last thing she needed right now was a rash on her ass. She patted herself dry as best she could with a handful of leaves and let her panties and jeans do the rest.
A wry thought hit her as she stood and fastened her pants and noted several additional rips and tears in them that hadn’t been provided by the manufacturer: they better get back to the future within a few days because she very much doubted there was anything remotely resembling the convenience of a tampon in this place.
Ramsay, standing with spear at the ready in one hand and the other hand resting on the haft of the dirk belted at his waist, visibly relaxed when she rejoined him in the clearing. “Are ye ready, then?”
“Ready for what?” She was more than ready to return to some semblance of a normal reality, but she very much doubted that’s what Ramsay meant.
“We’ll travel south. Down the mountain.” Ramsay nodded toward a beaten-down path disappearing into the trees. “With any luck, we’ll find a bit of water to slake our thirst and then, perhaps, we’ll come upon something or someone that will tell us what place in time this is…and hopefully, exactly where.”
“Um…people?” Katie wasn’t too sure about the people-meeting part of Ramsay’s plan. Water, she’d gladly accept. But people? Dressed as she was, depending on the century, they’d think she was either a witch or a whore—or both—and then they’d react accordingly. No, thank you. She didn’t want to experience that particular part of history first hand.
“Aye, people.” Ramsay gave her a reassuring smile and led the way into the woods, spear held at the ready and scanning the area on either side of them as they walked. “From the age of these trees, the moss upon them, and the verra feel of the place, I believe us t’be in Scotland—’tis usually where we end up when the goddesses send us back.”
He stopped, cocked his head as though trying to hear the smallest of sounds, then pointed to the right with his spear. “Water. That direction.”
Katie followed close behind, watching where she stepped to avoid any surprises like she’d found last night that had landed her in a muddy pit. Finally, she heard the gurgling tinkle of moving water. Thank goodness. It’s not coffee but it’ll do. She hurried to push past Ramsay and enjoy the spring.
Ramsay snatched hold of her shoulder and pulled her back into the protective curve of his arm, keeping her slightly behind him. He raised a finger to his lips and subtly nodded toward the stream.
Almost afraid to breathe at the risk of making a noise, Katie followed Ramsay’s line of sight. Oh shit.
Three men, extremely large men with short, deadly-looking swords lashed to their sides, squatted on the other side of the narrow expanse of shallow water that was bubbling and frothing across a bed of multicolored stones. Each of them scooped up double handfuls of water to their mouths as their horses drank in the water beside them. The men had a marked grubbiness about them as though they’d been living in the rough for days, maybe even weeks, and hadn’t had the time nor the inclination to address something as bothersome as cleanliness. Of course, in this century, personal hygiene ranked pretty low when it came to priorities.
Katie studied their clothing, mentally comparing it to Ramsay’s protector wear. They all wore the same colored and patterned brats or plaids—the much older precursor to the sixteenth-century kilt—swathed about their bodies. Their long threadbare linen shirts were opened wide at the throats and the full sleeves were rolled up well past their elbows. Ratty sporrans dangled from their belted trews that appeared to hit them just below their knees. Their leather boots were mud-encrusted and worn. Two of the men had long, dark, greasy-looking hair pulled back from their faces and knotted at the back of their thick necks with what looked like rawhide ties. The one who appeared older than the other two had no hair at all, but the skin of his bald head was covered in faded black tribal tattoos.
Katie placed her mouth against Ramsay’s ear, keeping her voice to even lower than a whisper. “Ninth century Scotland—or Ireland. Might even be tenth century from their dress. Depends where we are.”
Ramsay didn’t respond. Quietly moving in front of her, he gave her a look that clearly said, stay behind me. Katie agreed with a quick nod, snugging up close to his back and matching her moves to his as he stepped out of the shelter of the bushes.
The three men on the other side of the creek jerked their heads up at the same time. They immediately drew their weapons and warily rose from kneeling to battle-ready crouches. The older of the three, the man with the ancient tribal markings in place of his hair, stepped forward. Dark eyes glinting, his tattooed head tilted as he peered closer, his narrow-eyed stare settling on Ramsay’s facial tattoo. He pointed and grunted out a hissing stream of what sounded like Gaelic, but he spoke so rapidly that Katie couldn’t possibly translate any of the words.
Ramsay stiffened beneath her hands and seemed to grow beneath her touch. He snarled out a low throaty sound as he strode another step forward and thumped the haft of his spear hard against the ground as though it were a royal scepter.
“Ramsay Danann MacDara, iomraidh air spear bana-dia.”
Bearer of the goddesses’ spear. At least, that’s what she thought Ramsay had said. Between her rusty understanding of Gaelic and the way he’d said the words in the warning guttural growl of an enraged wolf, she wasn’t quite sure.
Tattoo-head replied but his tone had changed from the threatening rumble of earlier. The man’s voice had lowered to an excited respectful note that was still laced with wariness. He turned and barked something out at the other two, then all three men took a knee and bowed their heads.
“Dinna fear, lass. They are MacTavish. A druid clan.” Ramsay gently drew her out from behind him and brought her to stand at his side. He held her close against him and growled out, “Mo bhean.”
My wife. She understood that Gaelic phrase plain as day and the way Ramsay said it shot a rush of adrenaline and an unexpected feeling of I belong to him through her. He sounded…she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. Possessive? Yes. He sounds possessive. And proud—as though staking his claim and subliminally warning the men there’d be hell to pay if they were stupid enough to touch her.
All three darted a quick glance over at her, touched their foreheads with their fists, then turned their attention back to Ramsay as they rose from their kneeling positions.
Katie almost laughed out loud. She’d been afraid to meet people, mainly because of her attire, and Ramsay had been so
concerned for her safety, and yet she’d clearly been dismissed as less than important almost immediately—as though she was nothing more than a possession. Fine by me. I have no problem being invisible while we’re here in the past.
“Come.” Ramsay took her by the arm. “MacTavish Keep isna far. We should be safe there and welcomed.” Ramsay paused and gave her a quick up-and-down glance. “And I feel certain the lady of the keep will be more than happy t’have her housekeeper fetch ye some clothes more appropriate for this time.”
“Hopefully, she can spare a pot or two of hot water.” Shifting the gritty front of her shirt away from her chest, Katie rolled her shoulders and cringed as more of the dry, encrusted debris broke loose and rattled down her body. “I’d be happy with one good kettle full, a bowl, and a rag.” Soap would be phenomenal, but she’d make do with just the water.
“I’ll be sure t’mention yer desire for a good wash.” Ramsay hurried them along the path behind their three hosts. “The MacTavishes of the future are the best of the clans when it comes to makin’ a MacDara feel welcome. ’Tis my hope that the MacTavishes of this time will no’ be any different.”
I just hope some of them speak English. She could pick up bits and pieces of conversations in Gaelic but very little and no way did she grasp enough of the language to carry on an in-depth conversation.
Ramsay suddenly halted, shielded her with his arm, then abruptly pushed her behind him. “Stay behind me, lass. One of them just split away and disappeared into the wood.”
“I thought you said we could trust them?”
“I dinna whole-heartedly trust anyone but m’self right about now.” He stole a look back at her and the scowl he’d worn since they left the shelter softened the barest bit. “And I trust you.”
Katie bit her bottom lip and huddled closer, stealing glances all around and straining to hear any noise that might be coming from behind them. She didn’t harbor a doubt that Ramsay would risk his own life to save hers. She didn’t know how she knew this—it was just one of those things, like knowing the sun would always rise in the east and set in the west. “I trust you too,” she whispered.
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