Ramsay relaxed and pointed off to the right. “Their morning hunt was a success. There’ll be meat for our supper.”
Katie looked in the direction Ramsay pointed and then wished she hadn’t. The man was dragging the gutted carcass of a hairy black boar by its back hooves, which had been tightly lashed together. The beast was enormous, so huge that the man grunted with every labored step. He spouted off something in Gaelic to the other two MacTavishes. Tattoo-head pushed the other man toward the pig and growled out more unintelligible words. The man nodded and hurried over to assist in threading a long thick branch through the tied legs of the animal, so it could be toted between them.
“Why can’t I understand their Gaelic as easily as I understand yours?” Katie backed up a step and blinked against the foul odor of the slaughtered hog in the warm day as she and Ramsay fell in step behind the men. She forced down a gag as the wind carried a stronger surge of dead-animal and pig-shit stench across them. Oh my God. I’ll never eat meat again. She covered her nose and mouth with one hand as her gag reflex overpowered her control.
Ramsay gave her a sympathetic look then positioned himself between her and the animal. “I’ll block the wind best I can.” He glanced back over one shoulder at her. “And ye canna understand them because the language they’re usin’ is a mix of several of the oldest languages kent only by the goddess druids. But this is the year 917 A.D., so if they wished, they could speak the Gaelic ye know or Northumbrian Old English, ye should have no’ problem understandin’ that with yer background. They willna know French just yet, ’tis too early in the centuries. But it appears our new acquaintances are a bit leery about meetin’ a protector and his wife.” Ramsay glanced back again and graced her with another sympathetic smile as she gagged once more and covered her mouth to keep from puking.
He motioned toward the tattooed man at the head of the group. “They think the old tongue will suitably test me. Only druids ordained by the goddesses will ken their words. Come…” he pulled her up beside him as the trail widened. “Now, that they’ve retrieved their kill, we’re headed straight to the keep.”
Damn, history stinks. Still holding her nose and risking short intakes of breath through tight, barely parted lips, Katie tried to look anywhere except at the dripping carcass hanging between the two men up ahead. 917 A.D.? Wait. What? “How did you find out this is 917?”
“Gordon told me.” Ramsay pointed his spear at the man with the tattooed head who was currently deep in conversation with the man toting the front end of the pig. “He’s the MacTavish high druid and kent that a protector would need t’know the year.”
“When did he tell you this?” She might not understand druid-speak but she sure as hell knew that Ramsay hadn’t had any extended conversations with any of the three men.
“It takes but a few words in the old tongue coupled with hand signs as well. And trust me, lass, Gordon MacTavish appears t’be a man of even fewer words than most.”
There was something else. Something he wasn’t saying. Ramsay’s tone had changed, and he had I can’t tell you the rest shadows across his face. He sounded…wary. She felt it just as surely as she felt the scratching of dried muck clinging to her clothes with every step she took.
“What else did he say that you’re not telling me?” Screw beating around the bush and trying to worm it out of him. She didn’t have the energy for that crap. The thought of more trouble was dangerously overloading her already teetering emotional plate. Her mouth went dry as sand sifting in the desert, then a wave of nausea crashed across her, leaving her covered in a cold clammy sweat.
Ramsay halted and studied her for a long tense moment. Without another word, he hooked his arm around her and half-carried her forward. “I willna embarrass ye by pickin’ ye up,” he whispered as he hitched her closer. “But come. Fight this, Katie. We’ll get ye to food and drink soon. I swear it.”
I can do this. I can make it on my own. Katie stumbled and fell against him, grappling to hold on to the muscular arm around her. A strange weakness was taking control of her. It was a kind of lightheadedness and was making her all jiggly in the knees.
“Lass?”
Why did Ramsay’s voice sound so far away and muffled? She swallowed hard and worked her jaw, trying to get her ears to pop and clear the monotone buzzing drowning out all other sound. She tripped again. This damn ground was just too rough to walk on—the crazy path kept jumping up to meet her feet before she was ready to step down. She fought to shore herself up and get through this.
Push. A little food. A little water. Up ahead. I can do this. I can make it.
Unfortunately, her body was done. She tried to say Ramsay’s name but couldn’t tell if it came out of her mouth or not before the velvety soft darkness pulled her down and welcomed her with open arms.
Chapter 12
“Mistress Macklemurry will set me to diggin’ neeps and carrots with the kitchen lads if she walks in here and finds yerself bathin’ yer lady rather than me tendin’ to the mistress’s needs.”
The fretting young maidservant, Flora Macray, she’d called herself, reminded Ramsay of a younger, much more animated version of his sister, Esme. More helpful too. Or at least trying to be. He tossed the muddy rag he’d been using to clean away the dirt from his poor unconscious Katie into the ceramic basin of water on the table beside the bed.
He didna bother looking at the slip of a maid, still fussing and muttering beside him. He eased an arm under Katie’s shoulders and gently lifted her to a sitting position sagged against his chest. “If ye wish t’be of use, then come around and help me get these clothes off the lady without havin’ t’cut the damn things away wi’ m’blade.”
Katie would want her clothes intact for when they returned to North Carolina. His gut involuntarily tightened as though he’d just been punched. Ramsay swallowed hard and pressed his cheek to the top of her head as he held her close—the thought of never seeing this woman again was becoming more unbearable with each passing moment.
Flora skittered around the bed, gathered her skirts up to her knees, then clambered onto it and across the mounds of bedclothes to kneel at Katie’s other side. “Hold her away from yerself, m’chieftain, and I’ll pull this odd-lookin’ shift up over yer lady’s head. ’Tis a sight too short t’be of any good, isn’t it?”
Ramsay complied without answering, but Flora just sat there, staring at Katie and working her fingers and thumbs as though trying to find the courage to touch the odd bit of clothing.
“Flora Macray! What the devil are ye doin’? Get off that bed this verra instant!”
“Me arse is fair skint now,” Flora said in a hurried whisper. “Save me, m’chieftain, and I swear t’ye, I’ll take better care of yer lady than I would me own máthair.”
Ramsay’s heart went out to the girl who he’d decided was probably a bit younger than Esme’s seventeen summers. Still supporting Katie against his chest, Ramsay nodded at Flora, completely ignoring the presence of Agnes Macklemurry, housekeeper of MacTavish Keep, standing beside him. “The shirt, Flora. Grab it by the hem, girl, and skim it up off her. Be quick about it, aye?”
“My chieftain, if ye will be so kind as to move, I will take care of yer lady, m’self.” Agnes Macklemurry was a force t’be reckoned with—formidable, stern, and the woman brooked no argument or lollygaggin’ as he’d overheard her tellin’ the servants scurrying in all directions when he’d arrived at the keep with Katie in his arms.
Even Gordon MacTavish, spiritual leader of the MacTavish clan, the brawny tattooed man who’d obviously endured much during his long hard life, had suddenly disappeared into one of the corner alcoves and hurriedly pulled off his muddy boots then returned to Ramsay’s side, standing barefoot on Mistress Macklemurry’s freshly cleaned floors with boots in hand.
Ramsay gave the housekeeper a shake of his head. “I willna be leavin’ m’lady’s sid
e until she rises from her faint, aye?”
Mistress Macklemurry’s plump rosy cheeks flared an even brighter shade of red and she clamped her thin lips shut in a tight disapproving line. She folded her arms across her generous middle and lifted her chin as though silently declaring that neither hell nor high water could move her from where she stood.
Flora hurried to strip off Katie’s shirt and brushed away all the loose dirt from the linens before Ramsay eased the still unconscious lass back down into the pillows.
Sons a bitches. He hadna realized that Katie didna wear a bra—well, he had noticed, admired, in fact, and lusted after the teasing outlines of those pert nipples in her shirts—but he’d ne’er bothered with reasoning out the technicalities about why those sweet nubbins were so easy to notice.
“And now her…um…trews, aye?” Flora stole a nervous glance at the fuming Mrs. Macklemurry standing just behind Ramsay.
“Aye,” Ramsay forced out, struggling to stop ogling Katie and staring at her in open-mouthed admiration like a lad who’d ne’er seen a lady naked. These people believed Katie t’be his wife—for Katie’s safety in this century, he needed to behave like her husband.
“What sort of oddness is that?” Mrs. Macklemurry couldn’t remain silent any longer nor could she keep herself out of the middle of the action. The stocky old housekeeper, gray curls quivering around the edges of her white cap, pushed her way closer, and pointed a callused finger at the zipper on Katie’s jeans. “I’ve ne’er seen such.”
Ne’er reveal too much about the future—for the future’s own sake. Dwyn’s teachings echoed through Ramsay’s mind. That was all well and good and he’d do his best t’obey that tenet but surely something as simple as a zipper wouldna send a catastrophic ripple up through the centuries.
“A zipper.” Ramsay demonstrated by unzipping Katie’s jeans. That innocent movement stoked the inferno already blazing in his groin.
Katie’s eyes fluttered open and her hands flew to her crotch. “What the hell are you doing?” Her head jerked back and forth as she looked about the room, then her eyes flared open even wider as she looked down at her body and realized she was naked from the waist up. She reached down, snatched up two handfuls of covers and yanked them clear up to her chin. “What the hell is wrong with you?” she growled at Ramsay. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
Still sitting on the edge of the bed, Ramsay scooted back a bit but didn’t retreat completely. “Calm down, wife,” he gently urged, leaning close and giving Katie an intense look that he prayed to the goddesses she’d read and understand. “Ye fell out in a dead faint in the woods but yer safe now. We’re in MacTavish Keep.”
“Aye, m’lady—breathe deep and ne’er ye fret. We’re but cleanin’ ye up and tendin’ t’ye. I’m Mistress Macklemurry. I’ll be the one keepin’ yer house and kitchens runnin’ smooth as the cream in the larder pans.” Mistress Macklemurry used her ample hip to bump Ramsay the rest of the way off the bed, scooped Katie up with one burly arm, and gave a stern nod to Flora. “That there’s Flora. She’ll be yer handmaid unless ye find her wantin’ and then another will be found t’take care of yer needs.” She gave Flora an impatient look as though she were about to shake the maid by the shoulders. “Plump the lady’s pillows, gal. Ye ken she’ll be a needin’ t’sit up t’drink her tea and have a bit a bread to regain her strength.”
Flora hurried to comply.
“But…I…I…” Katie vainly struggled to evade her, fists knotted in the sheet she held clutched to her chin. She finally gave Ramsay a get me the hell out of here look. “Ramsay!”
Ramsay hurried around the broad girth of Mrs. Macklemurry as the housekeeper and Flora straightened bedclothes and plumped pillows until they had Katie properly sitting up and a tray of nourishment across her covered lap. When Mrs. Macklemurry and the maid finally stepped aside, he returned to his seat on the edge of the bed. He reached out and cupped Katie’s cheek in his hand. “I’m relieved ye’ve returned t’me, dear one.”
Relieved wasn’t the real word he’d had in mind. Actually, he’d dreaded Katie’s awakening for the very reasons before him.
Before Katie could sound off with the expletives he saw building in her fiery gaze, he leaned forward as though to press a kiss to her temple. “For yer own safety in this time, ye must act as though yer m’wife,” he whispered and nuzzled his mouth closer to her ear. “Think of yer history learnings. Remember the dangers women face here.”
He kissed the silky skin in front of her ear then sat back on the bed beside her. “Drink yer tea, lass. Yer weak.”
Katie glared at him for a long moment. Her cheeks grew rosier and Ramsay could tell by the rise and fall of her chest that both her breathing and heartrate were speeding up. Katie was about to explode with the need to speak her mind and that wouldna be good at all.
Finally, she pulled in a deep breath, wrenched the sheet tighter across her chest and anchored it in her armpits. She lifted the handle-free mug of steaming liquid in front of her, took a hesitant sip, then quickly returned it to the tray. She looked over at Ramsay and forced a strained smile. “I feel much better, husband, thank you.”
Ramsay turned to Mrs. Macklemurry and Flora. Both women were standing at the foot of the bed like faithful—albeit extremely nosy—guardian angels. The women had been helpful but now they needed to go so that he and Katie could have an uncomfortable but an extremely necessary conversation.
“Leave us.”
Flora flitted forward with a curt shake of her head. “But the rest of the lady’s bath and dressing—”
“Himself said t’leave—we leave.” Mrs. Macklemurry cut Flora off by stepping between the girl and Ramsay, and firmly pushed the maid toward the door. “Forgive her, m’chieftain.” She gave Ramsay a quick curtsy, then turned and glared at Flora. “She’s newly trained and forgets herself.” The older woman motioned toward the door. “I’ll have a wee chat with her and if ye have need of anythin’ at all, she’ll be awaitin’ yer call in the maid chamber just outside yer rooms.” She gave Ramsay a respectful nod, took hold of Flora’s arm, ushered the girl out, and firmly closed the door behind them.
Katie inhaled as though she was getting ready to expel a long tirade, but Ramsay stopped her by pressing a finger across her lips.
“Not yet,” he mouthed with a shake of his head. He waited a long moment until the barest click in the outer chambers told him that they were finally alone. He removed his finger from Katie’s mouth and braced himself. “Now.”
Her gaze dropped to her steaming tea and the small plate of bread and cheese beside it. Her jaw flexing, Katie closed her eyes as though saying her dinner prayers. After a long moment, she opened her eyes, and continued staring at her food. “I don’t know where to start,” she finally said in a dazed tone as though the bread had just asked her a question. “I don’t know where to fucking start.”
“Everything overcame ye and ye fell away in a dead faint.” Perhaps, if he reminded her of a few things, she’d find it easier to gather her bearings. Ramsay didna know which was worse: Katie rantin’ or Katie talkin’ to her food. “Lack of food. The trauma of jumpin’ time…”
“The nauseating smell of pig shit and gutted hog,” Katie supplied before taking another long sip of the steaming liquid in the cup. She shook her head and shrugged as her gaze lifted and settled on the opposite wall. The muscles in her cheek twitched with the angry disenchanted set of her jaw. “Mustn’t forget the enticing aroma of that little welcome to the Scottish Highlands, must we?” Her unblinking focus still fixed straight ahead on absolutely nothing, she picked up a hunk of brown bread and bit into it like a wolf ripping into its prey.
Ramsay eased off the bed and moved around to stand at the foot of the huge four-poster bed that had obviously been fashioned for a chieftain’s rooms. Might be best t’take up a safer post afore he shared all that he ha
d to tell her. “At least we’re here now. Safe,” he reasoned. “I promise ye, this place is a far sight better than some. The MacTavishes are strong allies…friends.”
Katie’s expression slowly shifted along with her attention. Her eyes narrowed even more as she trained them on Ramsay. “Your tone. You said that almost as though you feel we’ve been moved here permanently.” Before he could respond, she continued, “Mrs. Macklemurry called you ‘chieftain.’ ” She pointed her chunk of bread at him as though about to take aim and fire. “Why did she call you ‘chieftain’ instead of dìon, ‘protector’ like the other MacTavishes did back in the woods?” Balancing the tray resting on her legs, she wiggled to sit up straighter in the overstuffed mounds of the bed.
“What happened while I was out of it?” Her face flushed a hotter shade of red as she yanked the sheet higher up over her bosom. “What happened other than me getting stripped half-naked by you and a couple of total strangers?” She gave him a stinging look. “I could’ve handled cleanup myself, you know, once I came back around—or did that little thought never occur to you?”
Bracing both hands on the heavy wood footboard of the bed, Ramsay gave up on choosing his words carefully. The woman was already pissed and was damn certain about t’be pissed even more. There was no helpin’ it. Might as well face the lovely wee banshee like a man.
“Mrs. Macklemurry addressed me as chieftain, because that is who the MacTavishes consider me t’be—their high chief over all the druid clans of the Highlands, sent t’them by the goddesses t’see to the rebuilding of our people after the attacks of the Norsemen.” He held out a hand toward Katie as though presenting her at court. “And you, my dearest one, are their lady—their high chief’s wife.” He stood straighter, thankful he still wore his armor. “And I had no idea how long ye’d be out of it as ye put it, but I felt ye’d feel a damn sight better when ye awakened, if ye’d been liberated of the ten pounds of dried muck encrusting yer body.”
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