Katie set aside the tray, her movements slow and deliberate. She ripped back the bedcovers that weren’t wrapped around her torso and stood, taking care to pull one of the sheets with her and keep it around her body. She marched across the room, dragging her train of bedsheets behind her like a queen about to take her throne. She made her way to the single window centered in the far wall across from the bed.
One hand fisted on the stone ledge, the other fisted in the sheet she held to her chest, Katie turned and glared at him. “If you’re telling me that we’re going to be here—stuck in the tenth century—for the length of time it could take to reorganize who the hell knows how many clans…” she paused, her emotions making her quake. “…if that’s what you’re telling me—then I’m going to…I’m gonna…I’m going to kill you.” She threw a hand up in the air, a wild-eyed look of victory lighting her face as though she’d just single-handedly come up with the answer to a very difficult problem.
“That’s it,” she repeated with an affirmative bob of her head, jabbing an accusing finger at him. “I’m going to kill you. Think that’ll boomerang me back to the future?” Sarcasm dripped from her words—thick and dark like old honey. “If I piss off your goddesses enough, they should snatch my happy ass right out of this century and slam dunk me right back where I belong—don’t you think?”
It was at that exact moment that Ramsay knew he loved Katie.
She was a braw canty woman—fiery and fierce spirited. She’d set his soul ablaze and laugh while the flames of her words consumed him. He gladly welcomed a union with just such a woman—and nothing sounded better than spending the rest of his life with her, meeting her in battle, and setting her world on fire in return.
He ripped his dagger out of its sheath and held it out, all the while moving toward Katie as he yanked free the ties at the sides of the leather armor lashed across his chest. He tossed the protective breastplate aside and bare chested, squared off in front of her. “Here, lass. Use my blade.”
Katie’s eyes flared wider for the briefest moment but in their lightning-blue depths, Ramsay saw a building storm, a passionate storm he wanted to feel howling all around him. He shoved the knife toward her again, daring her to take hold of the hilt and bury the blade in his chest. “Take it. Do as ye wish.”
Jaw tensed and body trembling, Katie took the knife, flipped it to hold the tip of the blade between her fingers, then whizzed it past his shoulder, throwing it hard enough to bury the knife half the blade’s length in the wide panel of wood surrounding the door. Then she glared at Ramsay, paused a mere blink of an eye, then drew back her fist and punched the curve of his jaw. Hard.
“I hate you,” she hissed in a quivering whisper. “I fucking hate you.”
Working his jaw to erase the sting of the hit, Ramsay took hold of her wrist and pulled her into his arms. Burying his fingers into the tangled silk of her hair, he tilted her head back then held her there, forcing her to look him in the eye. “And I hate you for all that ye’ve made me feel.”
Then he kissed her. Hard. Properly melding their binding oath the way he should’ve done in the first place. He claimed her for his own, savoring the taste of her, the taste he’d craved since setting eyes on that sweet mouth. Victory surged through him like the fire of a good whisky when Katie gradually opened to him and slid her hands up his chest then around his neck to hold him tighter. Finally, he broke the bond, lifting his head the barest amount and allowing his lips t’brush back and forth across hers as he spoke. “We’re even in our hatred, aye?”
Then he gently pushed her away, toward the window ledge. Reddened lips parted and mouth-watering chest heaving, Katie stared back at him, not bothering to grab up the bedsheet that had puddled to the floor around her.
Ramsay strode to the door, yanked it open, then stopped in his tracks, staring into the next room but only seeing the vision he’d just left behind. Time for things t’change.
“I’ll send Flora t’help ye dress,” he said without looking back. “I’ll be waitin’ in the great hall for ye. Dinna tarry.” Then he left the room, pulling the door shut behind him with a forceful bang.
Enough twenty-first-century mewling around this fine lass. Time t’win this rare stubborn woman with a medieval roar.
Chapter 13
The watercolor blue of the summer sky disappearing into the soothing undulating hues of the sea didn’t do a damn thing to cool her temper—nor did the briny breeze riffling through her hair. Teeth clenched so tight her jaws ached, Katie stared out the open window. Fuming. She propped her fists on the cool gritty ledge of jutting stone that hit just above her waist. The crash of the waves far below mimicked the current state of her emotions. Dread, fear, excitement, arousal, and every other feeling in the damn encyclopedia of how-the-hell-did-I-end-up-here.
And then there was Ramsay, suddenly stricken with a medieval case of I am man, hear me roar. Wait for me in the great hall. “Pfft! Like hell.” Don’t hold your breath, buddy.
Then the unbidden memory of the kiss brought her fingertips to her still tingling lips and set her body to aching and quaking in pure unabashed lust all over again. That kiss. He’d totally owned it and took hold of her share of it too.
I ain’t never had a kiss like that before. And the sad part? He’d stopped. Katie closed her hand back into a fist and returned it to the window ledge. Why the hell had he stopped?
“M’lady, I’ve come t’help ye dress.” Flora’s cheerful voice drowned out the metallic creak of the door hinges as she scurried into the room without so much as knocking. “We canna keep Himself a’waitin’ and word has already spread of yer arrival. The first of the nearest clans are gatherin’ t’bid ye both a proper welcome with a fine feast this evenin’.”
Katie scooped the bedsheet up from the floor and jerked it around her bare torso, while still keeping her glare focused out the window. She didn’t give a damn about any gathering of the clans. She needed time alone to think—figure out a way to get back where she belonged. With a backward jab, she pointed toward the bed. “Leave the clothes on the bed. I can dress myself.” She was in no mood to be civil. If this Flora girl valued her life, she’d run like hell.
The annoyingly happy maid acted like Katie hadn’t said a word. She hurried over to the hearth with what looked like an oversized shallow bucket hooked over one arm and a bundle of linens hugged against her chest. She placed the larger tub to one side of the cold fireplace, pulled a smaller bucket out of it, and set it beside the bigger one. She piled the bundle of linens and a small cloth-covered crock on a knee-high wooden bench that she dragged out of the corner. Skittering back to the door, she fluttered a hand in Katie’s direction. “Keep the sheet around yerself, m’lady. The lads are bringing the kettles of water. Dinna ye fret, though, they’ll keep their eyes turned away or Mistress Macklemurry and me both will take a switch to their arses for them.”
Before Katie could react, two young boys, probably no more than twelve or so, labored their way into the room, both of them struggling to carry large, steaming black iron kettles in each of their hands. Barefooted, their dark trews hitting them just below their knees and their léines a bit ragged in spots but overall looking clean, the towheaded pair kept their eyes glued to the floor. They thumped the four kettles down on the stone hearth. With their gazes still locked on the floor, in unison, they turned in Katie’s direction, dipped down in a quick respectful bow, then nearly ran from the room.
A pang in her chest twitched her emotional dial off the poor-me setting and clicked it to sympathy for the two young boys, children who should be playing but instead were forced to work because of the station in life in which they’d been born. Neither the culture nor the century gave a damn about age when it came to survival.
Flora firmly closed the bedchamber door, securely drew the bar down across it, then approached Katie with a coaxing look on her freckle-dusted face.
“Come now, Mistress. We’ve fine hot water for a good wash—Himself said ye craved such. Let’s get ye shed of the rest of those filthy clothes and get yer bath. We’ll have ye feelin’ fresh as a spring mornin’ afore ye join yer chieftain.”
Hot water. Damn, what a temptation. Still clutching the bedsheet around her body, Katie moved away from the window and swished across the room over to the metal tub. Nearly three feet across and no more than twelve inches deep, the bath was more like an oversized basin that was just big enough for her to stand in. She bent and ran her fingers across the hammered surface and the rolled lip around the tub. Copper. I think I found one of these on a dig once. She didn’t say the words aloud. No sense scaring Flora by making her think the chieftain’s wife was crazy.
“Come now, m’lady,” Flora urged. “Yer chieftain’s waitin’.”
“He’s not my chieftain,” Katie snapped, feeling immediate guilt at the wide-eyed look of oh shit on young Flora’s face. “Sorry, sorry.” Katie held up a hand. “I didn’t mean to bite your head off. It’s been a rough few days.”
Flora waved away the apology as she took hold of the bedsheet around Katie’s body and tugged hard enough to pull it free. “Ah…Mistress. Ye owe me no soft words. Mrs. Macklemurry says I need t’ken when t’keep my mouth shut. That’s what she says, she does. Says my constant natterin’ would drive a sane man o’er a cliff.”
Self-consciously folding her arms over her breasts, Katie glanced down at her still unfastened jeans while Flora returned the sheet to the bed. Either she had to take her jeans and undies off or persistent Flora would surely remove them.
She’d never been overly self-conscious—not after growing up in a tent with Nanny Fay. Nanny Fay had taken care of her from birth until she turned eighteen. Katie swallowed hard. Dear sweet Nanny Fay would’ve insisted on looking after her a lot longer, but cancer had stolen away the kind woman, the only mother that Katie had ever known. Katie eyed Flora, weighing her options. Flora was a complete stranger but hot water sure would feel good right now.
No choice and cleanliness is calling. Katie shucked her jeans and panties off with a jerk then stepped into the shallow depths of the metal tub, nervously keeping one arm across her breasts and the other in front of her crotch.
Completely ignoring Katie’s discomfort, Flora buzzed around her like a bee tending to its favorite flower. She poured some of the hot water into a small basin, wet a rag and dipped it into the small crock, and got a generous glop of a white sticky substance that was probably a precursor to a bar of lye soap. “This here’s Old Creada’s best soapwort soap. I dinna ken all that she mixes with it, but it smells fresh as heather.”
Flora was right. The foamy lather the girl’s scrubbing created did smell good as the maid washed her tangled hair then worked her way down Katie’s back and torso. Flora looked at her like she’d lost her mind when she grabbed hold of the girl’s wrist before the rag dipped below her belly button.
“I’ll wash my lady parts, thank you.”
Flora paused, then shrugged and held out the rag. “As ye wish, m’lady.”
The dousing rinse with buckets of hot steaming water did wonders to improve her mood and ready her for what she was certain was going to be an interesting meet and greet with Ramsay in the great hall. Both the boys’ labor and Flora’s excited devotion had guilted her out of her plan to stay holed up in the room and solve this little quantum physics conundrum. They’d all three worked so hard to make her happy and presentable. If she didn’t show up, she had no doubt that somehow, they’d be blamed and harshly punished. I can’t handle that on my conscience.
As she stepped out of the tub and submitted to Flora’s brisk drying with a linen towel, she belatedly remembered her hair. “Oh shit.”
“M’lady?” Flora paused in her frenzied drying of Katie’s back and legs.
“No blow-dryer or flat iron.” Katie reached up with both hands and worked her fingers through her already unruly, curling hair. “I’ll be a damn puff ball—like a French poodle in dire need of trim.”
“French poodle?” Flora carefully repeated, confusion knotting her reddish-blond brows over her clear blue eyes.
“Never mind.” Katie forced her fingers back through her thick, damp hair, pulling it as smooth and taut as she could and into a semicontrolled ponytail of curls at the back of her head. “Have you got something I can tie this mess with? Some pins or something?” She could already feel the stubbornly curling tendrils slipping away and coiling about her neck.
Flora gently patted Katie’s hands away while making a soft clucking noise that should only come from a much older, grandmotherly woman. “Ne’er ye fret, m’lady. I’ll comb out yer lovely curls and braid them up all pretty and such. But first, we must dress ye.”
The more Katie smoothed down her curls, the more they fought her. “I give up.” Katie dropped her arms. “Do what you will.”
Flora pulled a snowy white chemise over Katie’s head, pulled her arms up through the sleeves, then jerked the length of the garment down to the floor. The full, bell-shaped sleeves fell a bit short, hitting Katie well above her wrists.
Typical. I’m even too tall and gangly in the tenth century. Katie tugged at the sleeves and rolled her shoulders. “Are you sure this is going to work?”
“I’m no’ done yet.” Flora lightly shoved Katie’s hands away, took hold of the wide banded neckline of the garment and yanked it low across Katie’s chest, exposing her décolletage and shoulders. She stepped back with a satisfied smile. “There now. Much better, aye?”
Bare nearly to her nipples, Katie glanced down. “Um…little low, isn’t it?” If she leaned forward, as Nanny Fay used to say, everyone would see clear to kingdom come.
“Just wait,” Flora advised as she pulled a couple of rich wine-colored garments out of a trunk at the foot of the bed. “Now the skirt and bodice.”
With Flora’s help, Katie managed to don the skirt over the chemise without having the undergarment wadded up in all the wrong places. The low-cut bodice effectively pushed up what little cleavage she had, especially since Flora had the ties pulled so tight she could barely breathe. Thankfully, the wide straps of the bodice across her shoulders did tend to stabilize things and make it less likely for her to flash anyone when she bent over.
Ignoring Katie’s request to loosen the laces, Flora fetched an oblong wooden box from the same trunk that had held the garments. She nodded toward a small stool sitting in front of a simple dressing table. “And now for yer hair and jewelry. Sit ye down, m’lady.”
Katie started to ask about shoes but thought better of it. Her simple slip-on tennis shoes would do just fine and also be a hell of a lot more comfortable than the leather moccasin-like footwear Flora had on her feet. And who knew what type of footwear Highland noblewomen wore? Not many pieces of clothing or shoes from the tenth century had survived to be discovered. While Fiona was busy at the dressing table, she slipped on her tennis shoes then fluffed out her skirts to hide them.
“Come, m’lady.” Fiona waved her forward, holding a pair of combs that looked like they’d been carved out of bone.
After a great deal of tugging and pulling, Fiona stepped aside and put the combs on the dressing table. “Yer a fair queen, m’lady. And now for yer headpiece.”
She lifted a highly polished diadem bearing the same Celtic symbols that Katie had seen on Ramsay’s sword. Working the adornment into Katie’s elaborately coiffed and braided hair, Flora snugged it firmly against Katie’s forehead. The young maid, eyes sparkling and the tip of her tongue racing back and forth across her bottom lip, stepped back and clasped her hands to her chest. “A fair queen, indeed. Himself will be sorely pleased.”
Katie pulled in a deep fortifying breath as she stood. “Well…I guess I’d better go find Himself—yes?” I have a few words for Himself.
“Nay…one more thing.”
Fiona held up a finger then quickly turned back to the box on the dressing table and pulled out a golden necklet with a single blood-red gem in its center. The tip of her tongue peeped out one corner of her mouth as she tiptoed and gingerly placed the substantial bit of jewelry around Katie’s neck. “There,” she said in a breathless tone filled with awe. “This piece came from the goddesses themselves. A gift to the high chief and his chosen mate.”
Gently tracing her fingers across the elaborate metalwork wrapped around her throat, an excited shiver raced across Katie’s flesh. What she wouldn’t give for her father to see her now. Museums would fly into a high-dollar bidding war to get hold of pieces such as the necklet and the diadem.
She tried to make out her reflection as best she could in the oval of polished metal Flora had propped in front of her. She had to admit…she kind of liked what she saw. But a disturbing thought put a damper on her little game of medieval dress up.
“Who did all this belong to, Flora?” She turned to the girl bustling about the room, setting everything in order. “Before me,” she added.
Flora went still, hugging the linen she’d just folded. She stared down at the floor and sadly shook her head. “The horde killed our former high chief as he fought t’keep them from the stone bridge into the keep.”
She turned to Katie and lifted her chin with a sharp intake of breath. “His lady bravely fought at his side, but they overcame her.” She stood taller as she turned away and looked toward the single window in the room. Her voice trembled as she spoke. “Other clans arrived in time t’beat the horde back. Kept them from takin’ the keep and harmin’ the rest of us.” She paused and cleared her throat. “But our lady, the lady whose things yer now awearin’, ended her life within a fortnight of the raid. She couldna bear the loss of her precious love nor the memory of what the evil bastards did to her down there in the mud, alongside her husband’s body…afore help arrived.”
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