“Thank her for me.”
He nodded and turned for the door.
She coughed to get his attention. “Tell me something before you go, would you?”
He stopped, turning back to face her again. “What?”
“Your laird, Gavin.”
“What about him?”
“What’s he like?”
The lad smiled. “Good at archery.”
“Is he a good laird?”
“Good enough. He’s treated us fair enough since his return.”
“Return? From where?”
“Did you no hear? He was held captive by the Frazers for six months. Him and his men only escaped last week.”
“I had no idea.”
“It was lucky his parents were not around to see him captured. They’d have burned Frazer Castle to the ground to get him back.”
“Where are his parents?”
“Dead many years now, God rest them.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. What happened? How did they die?”
“Outlaws caught them when they were out together.” He had a strange look on his face as he spoke.
“There’s something more, isn’t there?”
“It’s not my place to say, my lady.”
“Go on. It will not leave these four walls, you have my word.”
He leaned toward her, whispering quietly. “Word is Mungo Frazer had something to do with it.”
“What do you think?”
“I dinnae ken. Now I must be on my way. They’ll be wondering where I got to.”
He pulled the door closed as he went.
Heather felt sorrier for Gavin than she had before. He’d lost his parents too. Not only that but he’d also been held captive by Mungo Frazer for six months with rumors that the man who locked him up had something to do with his parents’ death. No wonder he was so angry.
Suddenly his stabbing Mungo at the peace negotiations made more sense. It was revenge for what Mungo had done to his parents and to him. She understood him better already. Which was confusing.
Up until a couple of days ago, her world had been normal. Gavin was the enemy.
Now it had all been turned upside down. The man she’d rationally and calmly hated all her life had turned out to be more complex than she’d imagined.
How surreal it was to have met him at all, the one man she had always wanted to confront. Not that she’d had a chance to do much confronting yet.
She wished she was at home. She wished she’d never agreed to take on the Scottish project. That way she could have spent her life hating Gavin and not finding out just how handsome he was, how those smoldering eyes made her tingle deep inside every time he looked at her.
And as for that voice of his…
Just hearing it made her tremble, her mouth becoming dry, the need to swallow uncontrollable. No doubt she looked like a gulping fish whenever he looked at her.
It would have been so much easier to hate him if she hadn’t met him. “Thank you, Tony Carson,” she said bitterly.
The more she thought about it the more she thought they’d conned her. How likely was it that Boris wanted her to run a huge project in Scotland when he wouldn’t even promote her instead of Alan?
What was more likely was what Tony had said. She had a link to the Frazer clan. They hadn’t picked her for her business acumen, nor for having any detailed knowledge of the Middle Ages. No, they’d picked her because she was a Frazer, the last remaining member of that line. They obviously needed Frazer DNA for this for some reason.
The big question was why. What was in it for Tony? It couldn’t just be to prevent the long war from happening. Why would he care about something that took place so long ago? There had to be something in it for him. Was it to do with the knife maybe?
She had no idea and unless she tracked down the key, she would never find out the answer to any of her questions.
The food was cold. Roasted chicken legs sat beside a pile of chopped up turnip and a goblet of wine.
She picked up the wine and tasted it. Sweeter than she was expecting and utterly delicious. It had a hint of summer berries to it and yet there was something darker, almost smoky. She took another sip, wishing she was in some wine bar somewhere. That was where she belonged, not here in the middle of a castle surrounded by nothing much at all apart from misery and death.
Stop it, she told herself.
There was no point giving in to despair. If she did that, she had no hope and she needed hope. She needed to focus. Treat it like a project at work. She had a task to do. What was it?
Her mind moved back to what she was here to achieve. Steal the knife. It had to be done before the peace treaty.
What was it the book had said? The peace negotiation took place on Halloween, 31st October. She needed to find out the date she arrived, that would tell her how long she had to get the knife.
What if someone else finds the key in the meantime?
She shook her head. There was nothing she could do about it if they did. She needed to expend her energy on the things she could control.
First things first, get out of the room. Steal the knife. Then find the key. Actually, it didn’t really matter which order she did it in as long as it was all done before Halloween. Then she could go home and put this behind her.
Could she find the key and go back without the knife? Sure she could but then she’d be unemployed. Do this and her entire family history would change. Maybe it would be like the Back to the Future movies. She’d get back to find her house was suddenly a mansion, her parents alive and happy.
She smiled, closing her eyes and picturing it. Somehow Marty McFly kept intruding, telling her to get out of his happy ending and back to her own story.
“No happy ending yet,” she said out loud, picking up a piece of chicken. If she was going to do this, she needed to keep her strength up.
Once she’d finished eating, she opened the bag and pulled out the stunning contents, trying to remember how medieval clothing worked.
There was a beautiful long red dress with gold thread worked into the collar that formed a swirling Celtic pattern that shimmered in the light. Rummaging further, she found a thin chemise, black stockings of wool, and leather shoes with no laces. She could only hope they would fit.
There was a hat with a cord to fix it under her chin. She knew there was a special name for that but she couldn’t remember what it was.
She noticed a distinct lack of underwear so she kept her own on while she changed into the highland clothes.
Sliding up the stockings, she wasn’t sure if they would stay up on their own but they did, the wool clinging tighter to her legs than she was expecting.
The dress fit perfectly. She looked down at herself once it was on, marvelling at how good it looked. All of a sudden she felt more at home and she wished she had a mirror to look into.
She ran her hands down the velvety fabric, straightening it out where the lines weren’t quite right.
The shoes were a looser fit than the stockings but still good enough for the short time she was planning to spend in the past.
With the hat tied upon her head, she felt like quite the medieval noblewoman. She waved her hand in the most regal way she could manage, nodding to an invisible crowd.
“Good morning,” she said, looking down her royal nose at the masses. “I am your lady. Flowers? For me? Thank you. Why yes, I am the greatest noblewoman who ever lived, thank you for saying so.”
She could only play make believe for so long before boredom set in once more.
She had no idea how much time had passed other than by the dying of the fire in the hearth. She had just thrown another log onto the flames when there was a knock on her door.
She crossed it and opened it and there was the taller guard. “Did you ask if I could go for a walk?” she said as he took a step into the room.
“He did,” a voice said from the corridor behind the guards. “And I told him I would come a
nd speak to you myself.”
It was Gavin standing there. He had washed the mud from his skin and his muscles seemed to bulge more than the first time she’d seen him. How was that possible?
Her heart began to thud in her chest as she crammed her hands behind her back, not wanting him to see how much they were shaking. How could one man have such an effect on her?
“Hi,” she said, wincing at how squeaky her voice suddenly sounded.
“May I speak with you?”
“Of course.”
He passed between the guards and into the room, closing the door behind him.
“Take a seat,” he said.
She sat, trying her best to look him in the eye, worrying that at any moment she might melt into a puddle and disappear completely. Either that or have a heart attack. She wanted another sip of wine but dared not pick up the glass, her hands were trembling too much.
“You look good,” he said, coughing to clear his throat a second later. “In that dress, I mean. It suits you.”
“Thank you. For lending it to me.”
There was an awkward silence that lasted more than a few moments. She glanced down at his chest, feeling another tingle spreading through her. When she looked up at him again, he was staring at her.
“I wanted to apologize,” he said, leaning forward in his seat, brushing a stray lock of hair away from her face. “I ken I treated you roughly when we met by the broch.”
“It’s fine,” she replied. “I’m used to men tossing me over their shoulder and riding off with me. Happens all the time.”
He frowned. “So why did you fight so much when I did it?”
“Because you hadn’t even bought me a drink first.”
Again the frown but this time it turned into a smile that lit up his face. “I will bear that in mind. Understand that I had no choice. If we hadn’t moved fast, you would have been killed by those men who were chasing us.”
“Who were they?”
His expression turned cold. “Outlaws.”
“What did they want with you?”
“Death for us. It was you they would have wanted to keep alive.”
She was about to ask what for but then she realized. “Oh,” she said out loud. “I see.”
“Where were you headed? When I found you?”
“Just passing through.”
“And yet when I mentioned MacGregor Castle, you stopped fighting to escape. Are you an assassin?”
She couldn’t help but laugh. “Far from it. I’m no one, trust me.”
“Everyone’s someone.”
“Not me.”
“What’s your name?”
“Heather. Heather Frazer.”
“Related to Mungo?”
“Distantly. Very distantly.”
He looked at her oddly for a moment when she said her surname but then his smile returned. “And what’s your business in these parts, Heather Frazer?”
“I don’t really have one. Like I say, I was just passing through.”
“And you want to be on your way, I suppose? Are you a beggar? A jongleur perhaps?”
“Neither. Why’d you think that?”
“Your strange attire. I’ve never seen its like.”
“All the rage where I’m from.”
“And what’s this you said to the guards about leaving the safety of your room? In a rush or would you like to stay as my guest under my protection?”
She looked at him closely, wishing she’d never met him. It would have made it so much easier. But now the thought of leaving was suddenly much harder to contemplate. “I could stay for a little while, I suppose.”
“Think hard. There may be a siege before too long and once it begins, no one will be able to get in or out of here.”
“What makes you think there’s going to be a siege?”
He looked closely at her. All of a sudden she felt naked, as if he could see through her clothes, through her skin even, all the way into her very soul. The sensation only lasted a second and then it was over, his eyes back to normal though she still felt unsettled by his examination of her.
He stretched his arms above his head. “There is rumor of an army massing near the broch where we met.”
“You seem very calm about it.”
“I’ve no doubt the scouts exaggerate.”
“They might not.”
“True enough but I go to see for myself this afternoon. Then I will ken more.”
Perfect. That was her chance. She could get the key back. “Can I come with you?”
He looked like he was about to refuse but then he nodded. “As long as you stay close to me at all times.”
“That I can do.”
6
Gavin stood in the middle of the courtyard, watching as the horses were led out from the stables. He nodded to the grooms bringing his beast to him. Lairdkiller, a huge black destrier that no one else could get near.
It took three men to even get him to move, the beast was flicking his head and dragging his feet in the straw. Gavin walked over and patted his flank. Immediately the horse fell still.
Taking the reins he didn’t immediately mount Lairdkiller. Instead he turned to speak to his men. All of them looked eager to fight.
Lachlan, his bare arms crisscrossed with scars, red hair shorn almost to the scalp. Beside him was Bruce with his shock of white hair. He had aged tremendously during their six months in captivity but he still looked far stronger than any of the others. He clearly wasn’t getting distracted by thoughts of Mary.
What would Bruce make of Heather? He made a mental note to ask him when they were back. Bruce had given him advice all his life, taking it had sometimes been the only thing that kept him alive.
It had been Bruce who held misgivings about the peace negotiation. If he’d listened, they might not have spent six months in the dungeon of Frazer Castle, not that Bruce ever once admonished him for failing to listen.
Beside Bruce stood Tom and John, the two red haired brothers who’d spent the entire time in captivity talking about the food they were going to eat when they got out. The only way to tell them apart was by their clothing, Tom was never seen without his plaid across his chest, John always went barechested, no matter what the occasion.
Gavin sometimes wondered what would happen if John were invited to meet the King. Which of them would break protocol first? He had a feeling it would probably be the King.
Alan and Will stood at the back of the group. Alan was wiping linseed oil along the length of his sword blade, singing quietly to himself as he did so, his face barely visible through his thick beard. If he ever met a woman, she’d have her work cut out competing with his sword to win his heart.
His eyes moved on to Will. Shortest of the group but also the fiercest, he was the one to whom Gavin primarily addressed his speech. He was the one who needed the reminder more than the others.
“We’re not going out there in search of a battle,” Gavin said, gaining their attention as final preparations were made to the rest of the horses. Lairdkiller whinnied loudly, nudging his neck. He ignored him. “We are going out there to find out for ourselves if the rumors are true.”
“And what if they are?”Alan asked.
Will replied. “Kill them all.”
“No,” Gavin said, looking pointedly at Will. “If the rumors are true there could be a thousand men gathered together. How long do you think that body of yours would remain untouched?”
“Why not ask Mary? She knows when this body was last touched, isn’t that right, Bruce?”
Bruce scowled at him but said nothing. Gavin waved his hand to silence the laughter. “Enough of that sort of talk. We will be riding out with a guest this morning.”
As if on cue, Heather emerged from the keep at that moment, a ray of light in the mud, shining bright like an angel, like she was part of the clan and always had been. The others noticed her at once. “Here she comes so be polite, Tom that goes for you as well.
; “Why pick on me?” Tom asked, grinning wickedly. “I’m always polite to the ladies. Especially when there’s a chance of seeing more of your special guest with all her curves on show.” He pulled a face and Gavin had the almost unstoppable urge to punch him.
He pointed his sword at Tom. “Speak like that again and your viscera will be on show.”
The laughter died at once. The men looked at him strangely. He knew why. He normally joined in with the laughter when they ribbed each other before going on patrol. Why was this any different? He couldn’t explain to them, it would make him look weak. Biting down on the desire to explain, he waved for Heather to join them.
It wasn’t the first time a woman had come on patrol. Sometimes it was so one of the men could impress whichever lady they were courting at that time, showing off their riding skills, perhaps slipping away together for a short spell to propose marriage when they reached some popular beauty spot.
Gavin had never minded. As long as the men could focus when they needed to, that was all that mattered.
Without allowing women to accompany them from time to time, they would have hard times finding brides. Between sword practice, archery, and guard duty there was often little time left for wooing. Yet, somehow the clan survived from one generation to the next.
Gavin could only marvel at it, not a little jealously. His men could marry for love. They could pick out the women they wanted. What did he have to do? Pick which of the clans he wished to cement an alliance with and then take the first daughter that came along?
With a sinking feeling as Heather walked over, he found himself comparing her to the daughters of Mungo Frazer. Was she a relative of the clan? It was too much to hope. She bore no resemblance to Mungo or to either of his children.
The laird of the Frazer clan had two daughters. The first, Catherine, had been afflicted with the pox at an early age and the experience had scarred her soul far deeper than her skin.
The few times she had attended clan gatherings, she sat off to one side with her handmaid next to her, the two of them scowling into the distance.
Whenever any man approached to ask for a dance she would openly mock them until they had no choice but to withdraw. She was expected to remain a spinster all her life. Marriage to her would be a constant battle.
The Key to His Castle: A Clean Time Travel Romance (Clan MacGregor Book 5) Page 6
