The Highlander's Time Read online

  He watched Kevin bow and then head for the Great Doors. A drip from the ceiling splashed lightly on Iaen’s tunic-clad shoulder. A curse upon me He tilted his eyes to the ceiling. A rivulet of water flowed from the center beam to the mortise and tenon joint. From there it traveled to where it dripped on him.

  Rather than call for a servant to bring him a bucket, he retraced his steps. He was walking toward the kitchen when a much louder rumble of thunder reverberated through Castle Kincaid.

  Iaen frowned at the sound, or more's the point, the lack of echo. His gaze inspected the empty room. Finishing his journey to the table, he dumped the bowl of apples and carried the wooden vessel back to where he'd first felt the drip. An uncomfortable stillness settled inside the castle.

  A shout from his chamber had him taking the stairs two at a time. Nay, 'twasn't a scream for help, but a woman's cry of terror. The sound of feet following him spun him around. “Kevin, with me. Malcolm,” he continued to the young MacAllister warrior trailing his second-in-command, “stay on the balcony.”

  Iaen nodded for Kevin to open the door. Entering his chamber, he came to a dead stop. “What the...?”

  “Milord?” Kevin sounded just as stunned.

  He blinked at the sight of three women struggling to untangle themselves from his linens and each other. Striding to the side of the bed, he freed them in a snap of his quilt. He handed the comforter to Kevin before he lifted the women out, one at a time. “Who are you, and what do you here?”

  His anger inched up when they stared at him dumbfounded, then gaped at each other. When they began arguing in a language he didnae understand, he shouted, “Enough.”

  Glaring each of them into silence, he took them in. Prostitutes? If their indecent clothing was an indication, he'd guess they were. The redhead, who in his estimation was younger than the other two, carried the shorn-haired head of a whore. Mayhap they had come to the Highland to escape scrutiny. To the wilds where their occupation didnae make a difference.

  That they were in the castle did.

  Determined to get to the bottom of their mysterious appearance, Iaen needed a learned man. One who spoke the language of court and the language of the Church. “Kevin, fetch Father Thomas to the Great Hall.”

  “Aye, milord.”

  He could only imagine the priest's reaction to his request. After all, Father Thomas didnae serve his ecumenical needs, but those of the clan. Iaen rarely attended mass. If he did, 'twas to ask God to grant him victory against an enemy.

  He marched the lot of them out of his bedchamber. Catching the blonde when she stumbled, he cringed away from the pungent scent of alcohol rolling off her clothes. It didnae take him long to see she'd never be able to negotiate the stairs on her own. Looking over the brunette first, she appeared irritated with him. Be careful, lass. I'm not a man to trifle with. The other wore an expression akin to that of a mouse in the fateful moment before a hawk grasped it in its deadly talons. I don't have time to chase you hither and yon. “Malcolm, assist her.”

  “Oh,” the blonde moaned.

  Iaen moved out of the way, pulling the two sober women with him a split instance before the blonde vomited all over the front of Malcolm's plaid. “Elspeth,” Iaen shouted.

  He recognized the signs of a woman who didnae know when to let off the jug. Her sallow skin and shaking hands only lent credence to his opinion. When she started to retch again, he moved the two sober women down the stairs. “Nay, you let her be,” he ordered the brunette when she struggled against the hand he’d clamped on her elbow. His barked command didnae stop her from trying to escape his grip. “You will do as you are told.”

  Why are you bothering? She donnae understand you. Even if she didnae, his tone should have told her plainly to calm.

  Seeing Elspeth standing in the middle of the hall, he pursed his lips into a thin line. “Tea and lots of it.”

  “Aye, milord.” He heard his cook call.

  Chapter Two

  Could someone show me to the closest exit out of this nightmare?

  “Let go of me!” Jenny struggled to free herself from his vice-like grip. Furious with him for his lack of compassion to Lila, she tugged with all her might. Irate at herself for not thinking faster on her feet in the office, she slapped his arm. “Ow.”

  Talk about rock-hard muscle. If she wasn't so pissed, she'd love to run her hands over his skin.Nah, he's more Lila's type. Well, that was yet to be determined. He doesn't look like the type to party all night long and pray to the porcelain god once the sun comes up.

  She met his glare while she shook the sting from her hand. “Charlzie, are you okay over there?”

  “I think so.” Tears clung to Charlzie's words. “Do you think this is a dream? That we were somehow sucked into Lila's drunken hallucination.”

  Rejecting the latter straight off, Jenny tried to wrap her brain around the situation. “I don't know what is going on.” How did you test a dream when you were consumed in it? “On my count, pinch yourself.”

  It was the stupidest idea she'd ever thought of. “Never mind.” She wracked her brain for a way. Back when she was a kid and she had nightmares about her mother's impending death, her father would tell her to put him in the dream. Even though he couldn't rescue her mom, he could give her comfort in her dream. “Tell yourself to wake up.”

  “Come on, Charlzie, wake up. Time to rise and shine.”

  Listening to Charlzie chant those two lines, Jenny imagined her dad walking in. Please, dad, please show up. When he didn't stride in, she changed tactics. Maybe the trick only works with living people. That didn't help her at all, since the other two people she spent most of her day with were in the dream with her.

  Jenny tried to picture the doorman from the office building holding the throne-like chair for her. She attempted to imagine her nosy neighbor peeking from behind a tapestry.

  Nada.

  Zip.

  Zilch.

  Think, Jenny. There has to be an explanation or a way out of this dream.

  “Jenny, what are we going to do?”

  “Give me a moment, Charlzie. I'm still trying to find my footing.” Tripping over a bucket, Jenny shrieked with fury. “Will you just get over yourself?” She shouted at the mountain of muscle glaring at her.

  She jerked away from him. Her arms flailed before she dropped to the floor. Landing hard, she scurried back until she was a good ten feet from him. She rubbed the ache from her brutalized ass. “What part of, 'I need to sit and think', don't you understand?” Not even telling the delusion to buzz off brought her back to reality and the pain was her wake-up call.

  Going through the scenario in the office, she remembered Charlzie taking a few sips from her tea. She, too, had nursed her cup of Earl Grey. “Charlzie, what if we're drugged?”

  “You mean someone spiked our tea?”

  “It's the only logical conclusion.” But who would want to do that to them? Lila had enough enemies and frenemies to choke a herd of horses. Of Lila's friends who acted like enemies in front of the press, only a few would instigate this publicity stunt. As much as she wanted her supposition to add up to pay dirt, it didn't. Any person who read the tabloids or an interview knew Lila wasn't just addicted to vodka on the rocks but her preferred double latte with extra foam. Her friends wouldn't have gone after all of them, but to send the publicity stunt over the top, they would have spiked Lila's drink.

  Dammit.

  Her logic fell apart before Dudley the Delusion had dragged her to a chair and forced her to sit.

  The delusion's sigh broke over her. “Okay, I'm calm,” she told him. Just go with the flow until you figure this all out. That means, lie to Charlzie to keep her calm. You can't console her and get answers at the same time. “We have to ride out the hallucination. Eventually, maybe a couple of hours or a day, we'll be back in LA, and right as rain.” Watching Lila walk shakily down the stairs, Jenny licked her dry lips. Get your priorities straight. Number one, sober Lila up.
r />   “I always hated that phrase,” Charlzie muttered.

  A rumble of thunder rattled the shutters on their hinges. Folding her hands in her lap, Jenny took in the room. She watched a drip of water fall from the ceiling with the same slowness as a first tear did when tracing down a heartbroken child's cheek. “Me, too.”

  “You know what, Jenny?”

  “No, what?”

  “I don't think we're drugged.”

  “Just relax.” Forcing her fingers to ease their white-knuckled hold on each other, she snapped her gaze to the massive set of doors when they banged open. She didn't know where to look; Lila, who had just gotten to the chair in front of the hearth or the servant balancing a tray of ceramic cups or the guy dressed in outdated priest-garb waggling a recriminating finger at Dudley the Delusion.

  She listened to Dudley talk to the priest. Blinking in confusion when they walked to where she sat, she gasped when Father from the Past asked her a question in Latin.

  “Why are you here?”

  “My Latin isn't very good,” Jenny admitted. To think going to parochial school would actually do her a favor. Her pulse tripled when he frowned. Taking a chance, she switched to another language. “Do you speak French or German? I can speak both fluently.” She formed her statement carefully and spoke slowly, praying for a miracle.

  “I speak rudimentary French, too,” Charlzie interrupted.

  “Why are you here?” he returned in the romantic language.

  So much for exchanging chit chat. “I wish I knew,” Jenny explained. Laying her hand over Charlzie's to keep her quiet, she nibbled on her lip for a minute. Where to start and how to make them not sound like a bunch of escapees from the local loony bin? “We were in an office and this thing came out of the wall.” She stopped when the priest held up a hand. “What did I say?”

  “Hang on, Jenny, I think I have this pegged,” Charlzie stated.

  “You do?” Will miracles never cease to happen? “Okay, what's going on?”

  “You know my mom was big on getting into her roots last year. She even conned me into taking a few classes in Gaelic before she took her trip to Scotland. She brought me back a kilt, but explained the dress wasn't popular until the Eighteenth-century.” Charlzie appeared ready to jump out of her skin.

  “So?”

  “We're in Scotland. They're speaking Gaelic.” She dropped her voice to a shallow whisper. “If their dress is any indication, and I'm remembering correctly what Mom told me about all the history she'd soaked up, this is the Middle Ages. We're in the past.”

  “No way.” Jenny shook her head. A re-enactment? Nope, the setting was too detailed unless they were on some movie set. That might make sense, but there wasn't any place for a live studio audience. A closed set? There weren't any spotlights or cameras overhead. Even if a frenemy had the money to accomplish this elaborate publicity stunt, she couldn't fathom why they'd go to the effort.

  “Yeah—way. I can't catch much of what they are saying, but I recognize the brogue.”

  “You're talking time travel.” Jenny’s frown shifted to a scowl. Through narrowed eyes, she searched the rafters for a camera.

  “Yeah, I am. This is incredible.”

  “Tell me something I don't already know.” Sticking to her plan of lying, she darted her gaze over the elaborate setting again and again. If this is a sick practical joke, I will kill someone. There was absolutely no damn way they'd gotten sucked into some sort of vortex. “Let's fly low under the radar until I can figure out how to get us home.”

  Charlzie's excitement dropped off when Dudley the Delusion leveled his ice-blue glare on them. “Sounds like a plan,” she muttered.

  No, it's our only option. Jenny decided, her fingers curling around the heavy ceramic mug placed in front of her. Where there’s a will, there's a way. And, she was going to have to find their way out of this nightmare.

  ***

  Iaen kept his anger in check by sheer force of will. “You talk fantasy, Father.”

  “Nay, milord. Lady Ainsleigh, Laird MacPherson's wife....”

  “I am well aware of who Adaem wed. If you will recall, I was there.” Aye, he stood witness to the happy occasion. His first impression of the lass Adaem had fallen in love with was she'd die afore the year was out. Reckless, and at times independent, Lady Ainsleigh didnae have the wherewithal to dress herself without the assistance of ten maids let alone protect herself from the unforgiving island where Adaem and she lived.

  “She is from the future,” the priest insisted.

  “What?”

  “After much conversation and many visits to Kilkierney, she trusted me with the truth of how she came to be in the Highlands. She was picked up by the Veil.”

  “You believe her?” Superstitions ran deep and long in the Highlands. Iaen couldn't believe a priest in good standing with the church would entertain a concept as fanciful as the Veil. 'Twas a miracle he hadn't called for Lady Ainsleigh to be put to the stake.

  “I have nay reason not to. She provided a modicum of proof to me. I believe her tale.”

  “You have lost your senses, old friend? The Veil is a myth.” Iaen propped his fists on his hips. “A phantom that races o'er the land with the intent of snatching wayward travelers and naughty children to a horrible place. A land where they will be lost and alone for all time. 'Tis nonsense you speak.”

  “I tell you, milord, the Veil is real. 'Tis the tale that is warped. Aye, the Veil plucks a person or persons to spirit them away.” Father Thomas pointed to the duo sitting at the High Table. He snorted at the other lass when her head lolled against the back of the chair pulled up to the hearth. “It whisks them to a time and place where they can find true love.”

  “Bah.” Nonsense meant to keep wee ones in their beds, is more like it.

  “Milord, listen to me. Lady Ainsleigh found happiness with Laird Adaem. Kilkierney hadn’t known peace in many years yet now it hasn't seen a threat from the ocean or the mainland since her arrival. The Clan MacPherson believes Lady Ainsleigh is the cause for their good fortune.”

  “My clan makes its own good fortune.”

  “There is a reason they are here.” Father Thomas dropped his arm to his side. A burst of chatter came from the women at the table. “They want to know if they can care for their friend. She's very ill.”

  “She's deep in her cups, Father.”

  “It makes nay difference, milord.”

  “Aye, but they are not to leave the Keep. I'll have Elspeth show them to a room they may use during their visit.” He turned on the heel of his boot. “We'll have nay more discussion on the Veil.”

  “What will you do with them? They have nay place to go.”

  Tired of the talk, Iaen switched direction, righted the bucket in the growing puddle, and then headed for the kitchen. He poked his head in to view the bustling room, and motioned for the elderly woman to join him. “Elspeth, if you would show the women to a room.”

  She wiped her hands on her apron. Smudges of flour, matching the streaks of white in her hair, marred her concerned face. Instead of having the kitchen maid, Alyce, take a fresh pitcher of hot tea to the table, she sent the young lass back to her spot at the work bench. “Their clothes, milord.” She came closer so the other kitchen staff couldnae eavesdrop. “You cannae have the lasses strolling around half-naked.”

  He confronted the new tangent with brooding resignation. Unbidden, he pictured the lot they would face beyond the border of Kincaid land. Raped afore the night was over. Starved to death afore the week was out. Leveling his hand on the doorframe, he slashed his gaze from his visitors to Father Thomas's worried countenance. “See they are clothed as best you can.”

  “At once, milord.” She bobbed a curtsy before carrying the pitcher to the table. Iaen reluctantly trailed behind her.

  “You didnae answer my query,” Father Thomas reminded.

  “They are welcome to stay in the Keep as my guests.” He raked a hand through his hair. “'Twould
be in their best interest to learn our speech, our ways, as fast as they can. I donnae hold to the notion of witches and the Black Arts, but there are a few who live on Kincaid land who'd brand them handmaidens of the Devil because they donnae hold to our customs. If the clan turns against them, nay matter the reason, they will have to leave. I cannae have anarchy brew within my clan.”

  “I ken, milord. You neednae worry over them. They'll be quiet as church mice.”

  An angry scream split the air twain. Together they watched the blonde pitch a tantrum nay Highlander would allow their toddling to throw. Iaen plucked his dagger from his belt. It flew through the air to sink into the mantel with a thud. “You better tell them to shush her ere the entire clan comes to investigate her caterwauling.”

  Father Thomas nodded. He didn't need to order them, though. The brunette was already handling the shrieking blonde. “I'll make sure they're good.”

  “God help you, father.” He didn't even dodge the cup the blonde threw at him, for her aim was as off as it could get. Iaen chuckled at her meager attempt to hit him. He didnae doubt she was seeing two of him. Again, the brunette tried to assert her authority. A pang of pity welled in him when the blonde lashed out at what he assumed was her friend. Intervening, he gripped her fists and planted her arse in her chair. Looming over her, he held her to her place when she tried to fight him. “Tell her to stop or I'll spank her for her poor manners.”

  “Aye, milord.” Father Thomas first told the brunette who related it to the blonde.

  Iaen kept his gaze on the blonde throwing nasty glares at him. “Inform her, I will keep my promise if she has one more outburst.” They repeated the process. “Are we of an accord?”

  'Twas hard to make his point this way, but as he watched the blonde's eyes widen, he felt he'd attained his goal.

  “Aye,” the brunette responded for her friend.

  Ignoring her insult when she didnae use his title, he considered her again. She was a pretty thing with her long sable hair and dewy complexion. He took his time inspecting her from the top of her head to the tips of her unusual slippers. Aye, she was a temptation, too. Her breasts were barely a handful, and he could imagine his hands curling around her hips while he pounded her lithe body. “What is your name?” The simple question almost exhausted his knowledge of the court's language.