Snowflakes in Summer (Time Tumble Series Book 1)

by Elizabeth Preston

  As much as I loved dogs, I couldn’t help but picture a giant wolfhound with a filthy bug-ridden coat. Hadn’t I heard that, in medieval times, the folk used the dog’s fur to wipe their greasy hands on? That line was probably more myth than fact but still, I’d rather not have an unwashed wolfhound in my bed. “I’m sure I’ll be fine, but thank you anyway.”

  Of course the opposite was true.

  “I’m Caitlin,” I said, walking over and offering my hand. The girl tending to the fire mumbled at the hearth, ignoring my arm and my feeble attempt at friendship. After a long and awkward moment, she finally responded.

  “I’m Ada.”

  I looked over at the other girl. “And you?”

  “Nelly,” she said, without warmth.

  Nelly dragged many things around. I heard her splash water into a pitcher and bowl, then I watched as she placed soap and a drying cloth by the table. Then she pulled a long dress out of a bag that she’d been carrying over her shoulder. With my fire nicely lit, I watched Ada use a tallow torch to light the candles. I needed to do or say something to get these girls on my side. “I’m not sure if Martha told you two or not, but I’m not a Northwoman.”

  The both turned and stared. “You’re nay?”

  “No. Do I sound like one?”

  Ada shrugged. “Ye speak mighty strange English, but I can’t say that ye sound Norse either.”

  I moved toward the fire to warm my hands. “I took this Norse dress. I borrowed it from someone because I needed something warm to wear. Truly, I know very little about the folk from the North, other than they’re violent and that they have invaded parts of Scotland. I know they’re in the Isles and in the far north, too.”

  Nelly still looked dubious. “Where are ye from then?”

  I was less forthcoming about that, but I knew that the time might come where I’d be forced to tell the truth so I tried not to lie. “I’m from a country so far away, neither of you could possibly have heard of it.”

  They were intrigued now, positively brimming with questions. “I can’t say any more. It’s only right that I tell Laird Bern before anyone else knows.” They nodded solemnly, not daring to step out of their designated place in the giant structure that was Medieval Scotland. Phew, that went well, and I could tell that they were already warming to me, too. I liked them back. I went over and picked up a wedge that looked a little like soap and smelled it. “Is this made from tallow and ashes?”

  Ada giggled. “Nay, that one is for the men only. We use roots of the soapwort plant in ours. What about the soap where ye come from? What’s that like?”

  I smiled. “Our washing soap is highly perfumed and usually not in a solid block like this. We used to make soap like this but now we use liquid soap.”

  “Liquid?” they asked, confused.

  “Yes, thick creamy liquid the consistency of porridge without lumps. Our soaps smell like all sorts of things: flowers, fruit, herbs, or even the sea. We changed to this liquid soap because it’s more convenient for us to use, cleaner and safer, too.”

  They were spellbound now. Funny how it is always the small details that people are really interested in—everyday life. Nelly moved toward me and helped me remove my Viking cape. “I want to keep my Norse clothing, because, like I said, I borrowed it. I have to give it all back at some stage, so please leave the outfit in my room. Don’t touch it.”

  They nodded their agreement.

  “About your strange soap,” Nelly pushed. “Do you carry it about in a bucket?”

  “No. In small containers, bottles. We think liquid soap is cleaner than soap in a bar, because liquid soap doesn’t get shared. Our soap pours from bottles straight into our hands. The trouble with bar soap is that lots of people share that one bar. And that is not clean. Users can leave traces of disease and other nasties on the bar without meaning to.” I had no idea how all this information would go down, and I certainly did not expect them to understand, but they did ask. I reasoned that if I shared what I could, then they might warm to me.

  Both girls stood rigidly still, listening, clearly fascinated by my story. Ada pulled the lacings of my dress to loosen them.

  “Sounds like your country is mighty concerned about being clean.”

  I laughed. “You have no idea how true that is. We wash ourselves and everything else too, all the time. We have found that since we started keeping everything around us clean, we don’t get sick nearly as much as we used to.”

  Ada pulled the dress over my head. “My mother says that it’s ungodly to wash the body, dangerous even.”

  I kicked off my Viking boots. “We believe that the opposite is true. We think it best that bodies are washed every day to keep rashes and other skin complaints away.”

  They both gasped. “Every day? But that would be impossible. How long must ye spend carting and warming water?”

  I didn’t tell her that all we needed to do was turn on the tap. Ada pulled my shift off, too. I stood in front of them in my bra and undies. They were clearly shocked by my scant underwear but they kept quiet. “Our under-clothing is different from yours.” I hoped this answer would suffice. “I can bathe myself now. When I’m done, I’ll put that Scottish dress and those slippers on.” I pointed at the Highlander outfit laid out on my bed.

  Before Ada closed my chamber door, she turned. “Caitlin, will ye tell us more about your homeland, later, at dinner mayhap?”

  I smiled, “I’ll be glad to. Can I sit with you two in the dining hall? You are my friends now, my only friends here.”

  They giggled. “I think the laird is your friend also.”

  I shrugged, trying not to tread on anyone’s toes. “If the laird has a wife or special lady friend, then it might be best I keep out of his way. I don’t want to upset anyone.” I sounded like I was fishing for information, and of course I was.

  “All the girls want the laird, but none have caught him yet.”

  I tried not to look excited by this news. If Nelly or Ada were single still, they’d also have their eye on Bern. I liked them. They were quick to smile, and accepting in their way. I’d been lonely most of my life and then when my twenty-first-century friend, Lily, came along, she filled that aching hole. Now, I dreaded loneliness in the same way others dreaded poverty.

  Chapter 6

  Bern

  I’ll admit it, it broke my heart to see my men in such a weakened state. Looking around the great hall, I couldn’t spot a warrior without a wound or bandage o’ some sort. And we were the lucky ones. The rest were either dead or ailing somewhere unreachable. Our scouts had been back to the battleground and had scoured the route home, too. We were lucky to find Broc and Arvil bleeding in a ditch, lucky to get to them before the crows and other beasties did. I’ve had a gutful of our king’s need to conquer the Northmen. No amount o’ death and dying is ever enough for him. The odds o’ winning don’t matter to King Alexander: he pushes us into battle with the Norse, regardless. Our king won’t quit till he runs the Norse out of Innse Gall. If he keeps this up he’ll exhaust his supple of Highland warriors well before he’s rid our lands of the Norse. Our luck needs to chance. We need some sort of advantage. That thought often kept me awake at night: there’s an advantage someone, if only I can find it. I’m Laird so it is up to me to save my people. I need to find a way t’ do this because if I don’t, my clan will be wiped out before yuletide arrives. It’s critical now. I must see the way forward.

  I summoned them all to attention. “Men, as ye know, I’ve bought a lassie back from the battlefield with me.”

  It was Leith, one of my most prized men-at-arms who spoke first. “Why let one o’ them in, Laird? She’s clearly a Northwoman, so tall and strong and righteous.” The others joined in, voicing their disapproval.

  I held my palm up asking for quiet. “Nay, I don’t thin
k she is. True enough, she rode in wearing Northwoman clothing, but we’ve all come across enough folk from the North to know what they sound like. Ye can put a wolf in sheep’s clothing, but that does no’ make it a sheep.”

  Roland took a long draft from his ale and then slammed his mug down on the planking table. “Aye, but those Norse are a tricky lot. They’ve taught her to speak funny, to fool us into believing her cock-old story. She’s a spy, mark my words.”

  I wiped my hand across my stubble. “I don’t think so, Roland. She’s nothing like any Norseman or Norsewoman I’ve e’er met and so far, she’s given me no story, fictitious or otherwise. But God’s put her in our path for a reason, and I’m more than intrigued to find out what that reason is.”

  Leith piped up again. “If she’s nay Norse, then where does she hail from?”

  I shook my head. “That, Leith, is what I intend to find out. We’ll dine soon, and after supper, I’ll interrogate the lassie in my chamber.”

  The men howled and cheered like randy lads, banging their goblets upon the table. I couldn’t help smiling, too. If I was honest, I’d admit to looking forward to the task. Caitlin was a fine, healthy, young woman. Why wouldn’t I want to get to know her better?

  “When you’re done, Laird, send her to my chamber too, and I’ll interrogate her further.”

  I laughed but knew it was time to put an end to this bawdy talk. Joking like this with my men could easily lead to misdeeds. “None of that. She’s my guest. Mind your manners. I’ll not stand for anyone treating her with disrespect. We’ll give the girl a fair go, let her explain herself before we judge. She’s to be treated as a welcomed guest until I say otherwise.”

  The few lines Caitlin had told me already, I didn’t believe of course. How could she possibly be from a faraway land? How had she arrived in Doral from the other end of the earth? Flown like a bird? Was she a sorcerer? And what a strange coincidence it was: Caitlin arrived just after our last battle with the Northmen. Nay, she was no hapless visitor. She was a foreigner for certes, but why was she here? I would find out, one way or the other. The girl wasn’t leaving until I had the full measure of her.

  Just then, a castle steward, Martha, blustered into the hall, her slippers barely touching the floor. “Laird, come quickly. Something’s happened to that Caitlin lassie o’ yours.”

  I felt my chest tighten. “What do ye mean, Martha?” I bolted toward the keep, not waiting for her reply.

  Martha hurried after me. “I came to tell the lass that our eventide meal would be served in a wee while, and found her out cold on her pallet. I could no’ wake her. She’s got a shiny red mark on her forehead, too. Looks like someone’s walloped her; a wicked blow, by the looks of things.”

  The door to Caitlin’s chamber was open, and two of our lassies were inside. They leaned over her mattress making a fuss, trying to rouse the young foreigner. I reeled at the sight of the club mark on her beautiful forehead. Hot licks of anger curled around my heart. How dare one of my own clan attack my guest!

  “Caitlin,” I said, leaning close to her ear. She tossed a little but her eyes remained closed. “Someone has hurt ye, my sweet.” I whispered my words knowing that I should not address her so, but could not help myself. Martha and the girls were listening, but I was too awash with anger to care. “Ye shall sleep under my own watchful eye this eve. No one will touch ye in my chamber.”

  I scooped her off the bed, cradling her preciousness. She was slighter than she looked and as treasured as a wee babe in my arms. How could it be that Caitlin was even more fetching now than I’d remembered? The lass was blessed with creamy skin and lush hair. She was dressed in Highland clothing now, her kirtle bunched up to her knees showing off her slender, long, smooth legs. Crushing her in my arms, I climbed the steps to my own high chamber, far away from everyone. I kicked the door open and as I did so, Caitlin stirred.

  “Martha,” I said, “find me something cool to simmer down the swelling. She’ll have a fearful lump come morn if we do naught.”

  Martha scurried away, and I was pleased to be rid of her. Truth be told, I wanted the girl to myself. I lay her amongst my furs and sat beside her slumbering body on the bed, stroking her hand, waiting for her to awaken. It didn’t take long. Her eyelids flickered open and she stared straight up at me, her brow lined in confusion.

  “You’re safe now, sweets. You’re with me, in my private chamber, high up in the keep. ’Tis the safest place in all of our castle. No one will touch ye here.”

  “What happened?” she asked, groggy and dazed.

  Martha came in then, carrying a damp cloth and a bowl of water with some herb or other floating atop. “Thank you, Martha, I’ll see to the girl myself. Ye must away and organize the serving of our meal. My men-at-arms have grumbling bellies.”

  “Milord.” She nodded, backing away, eager to leave. “Shall I send a trencher of food up for the girl?”

  “Aye, and one for me, too.” I dipped the cloth into the cool liquid. “Lie still, wee Caitlin,” I ordered, placing the damp cloth on her shiny bump. “Do ye know who attacked ye? Because if ye do, they’ll nay live long enough to truly regret their action.”

  “No,” she muttered. “I didn’t see a thing. One minute I was napping on the mattress and the next, I was awake and had that feeling that someone was in my room. Then everything went black.”

  She may have read concern or, mayhap, anger in my eyes. I was feeling both.

  “Thank you, Bern. But you don’t need to care for me, personally I mean. All I ask is that you stop my attacker from doing it again.”

  I reached for her hand. “Ye are my guest. We do not attack our guests. This was a heinous act and it will no’ happen again. ’Tis my job to make amends.”

  She was right though. Normally, the clan lassies tended our sick and injured. I had no need to be involved in nursing folk back to health. But this guest was special. She had a strange story that my ears longed to hear. Nay, it was more than that. Truth be told, there was more to my attentiveness than the need to know her unusual tale. This wee lass captivated me, so much so that every time I turned from her, I felt the wrench. Since taking the lairdship from my father two summers ago, I’d half-heartedly searched for a wife. Many bonnie girls fought for my attention, with little success. I knew full well that I should wed a lassie from my own clan, yet I couldn’t bring myself to choose one.

  Every amenable girl I’d come upon, I’d try to woo. I went out o’ my way to laugh and joke and even dance with them all, doing all I could to get my heart a-pounding. Nothing worked. And now, I’d come across a lassie most unsuited to the job of Laird’s wife. And what did my wretched heart do? Refuse to quieten. My reticent heart has suddenly awoken and was screaming: I want that girl, the one in your bed, and none other.

  I noted the gentle smile sweetening her lips. “Ye do not look angry at me.”

  She closed her eyes. “Why would I be angry at you?”

  I had to raise my brow at her question. “Where ye come from, surely it is a man’s responsibility to protect a woman?”

  “Um,” she said, as if the question required some thought. “Not really. Where I’m from, women are responsible for protecting themselves.”

  Her answer shocked me to my very core. Is there a place on earth where men do not protect women? Surely protection is a man’s first duty. “Where is this place ye speak of, Caitlin?”

  She sighed, then her tongue moistened her lips. I won’t pretend that I wasn’t aroused by the sight. I could feel my body being pulled toward hers, as if someone had rope around my arms and legs and heart. I yearned to taste those lips, to savor their softness against mine. She stretched like a cat and then cocooned herself back into the folds of my bed. If she would only lie still then I might be able to ignore the throb between my legs. Did the girl know what she did to me? In my own
bed, no less.

  “I’m thirsty, Bern. Do you have any light ale or boiled water?”

  I was being the worst nursemaid possible. Of course an ailing patient might be in need of a drink. I was in need of a drink myself, a decent measure of my best barley whiskey. “Aye, I’ve ale in the jug. Let me fetch a mouthful.” I poured a good measure and, like the jester I’d suddenly become, managed to slop half of it over my hand. Arrg, what was wrong with me this eve? I turned back toward her with the brimming cup. She was lying with her eyes closed. Blast it. What about her drink? I put the mug down on the chest beside my bed. This tending to the sick was trickier than it looked.

  “Let me help ye sit. Ye can no’ drink lying down.”

  She raised her head and I was there, my arm supporting her shoulders, slipping her body against mine. I was too eager, like the fly who smells ripe meat. I eased her to a sitting position.

  “I’m fine, Bern. Truly. I’ll leave your chamber soon and stop being a pest.”

  “No, no, no, no. Ye most certainly will not. After such a bump to the head, folk are oft sick to their stomachs. No, ye cannot leave my room. You’re here for the night. Ye must be watched, and I’m the one to do it.” I had to look away whilst I said the rest, in case my face gave too much of the truth away. My feelings were all a-jumble. Aye, I was feeling lust, true enough, but more than that, too. I did not wish the girl to think poorly of me. Her opinions mattered more than they should.

  “’Twas my responsibility to keep ye safe, and I did not do it. I will not fail ye again.” Now that she was sitting up, I handed her the ale. She drank till she’d had her fill, then passed the vessel back.

  “Now,” I said, nestling myself beside her on the bed, ignoring her startled look. “I intend to stay right here and watch over ye. I’ll not let so much as a biting bug near your body. Such fine, unmarred flesh ’tis, too. It will take some watching.”