The Highlander's Time (2 page)

“'Tis rising, milord.”

Iaen heaved a heavy-hearted sigh. He had nay reason to worry for the Keep. Granted, the roof would need major repairs, but the stone walls would hold. If he had to, he'd move families inside the hall. “Have all the clansmen in the flood area been removed to higher ground?”

“Aye, many are staying with family. The remainders were placed in the abandoned cottages per your command.” The dark-haired man hesitated. “Only Graham refused to leave, but you know how stubborn he is.” Kevin shook his head. “Naught will take him from his cottage save death is what he told me.”

“Aye.” If that didnae sound like the old man who had followed the pipes and drums for most of his life, Iaen didnae not know what did. Graham also had the misfortune of being like his laird. They were born from the mix of Scots and Norse blood. Graham's mother was a slave traded to his father for fox pelts in the last century. Iaen's mother had married his father to seal a peace accord between the Kincaids and the Viking Wulfson clan. “Let him alone for the time being. If the river comes up to the back wall of his cottage, inform me at once.”

“You think you can convince him to leave?”

“Nay.” Iaen dodged a bucket catching drips from the ceiling as he strode across the Great Hall. Considerations by the dozens stiffened his shoulders. He didnae have the time for Graham's attitude, nor did he have hours to waste cajoling an old man from the only home he'd known. He also knew Graham wasnae long for this world. His advanced age and poor health said as much. “I think he will curse me to the ends of the earth.” Which wasnae aught out of the normal. The man hadnae ever had a kind word to say unless he was hunting for a favor from his laird. Propping his fists on his hips, Iaen steered his gaze to the Great Doors. “If this is how he wants to meet his end, I'll not interfere.”

“Milord, you speak suicide.”

“Nay, Kevin, I speak of a man's right to face death on his own terms.” To Iaen's thinking, if he had his choice, he'd prefer to die at the end of a sword than to the fate of a helpless old man lingering in bed. He was a warrior, and by God, he'd die with honor, hopefully in the heat of battle.

“As you wish, milord.”

A rumble of thunder rolled through the Great Hall. The unusual acoustics of the vaulted, open beamed ceiling turned the sound into a riotous roar. “Keep me apprised of the situation at the river.” Why he felt the need to reiterate his order to a man he knew would follow him straight to the gates of Hell, Iaen didnae know. He turned toward the wooden stairs leading to his chamber. His sword hand itched to grip his blade, to battle back the weather, and claim victory. What good was a sword versus a storm let alone one of this strength? His weapon against a raging river? Naught.

Uselessness sat like hot lead in his belly. Flexing his hand open and closed, he climbed the stairs. The thud of his footfalls against the treads echoed in the cavernous room. Halfway to the landing, he stopped. “Send a messenger to the families living on the border; the Great Doors are open should they come under attack or if their stores grow low.” A small, sardonic smile flitted across his lips. “We may suffer tight quarters for a while, my friend.”

“Aye, milord. Now, if the twins come to the Keep, 'twill be worth the close confines.”

Iaen laughed at Kevin. For as long as he'd known the man, he'd lusted after Megan or Mary. The problem with desiring identical twins was Kevin couldnae tell the two apart. Iaen could, but he didnae want either of the twins in his bed. “Try staring at their faces rather than watching their arses go by.”

“The view from the backend is much more pleasant, though.”

“Aye, but to have a woman meet you eye to eye and toe to toe—that's a woman you can find happiness with.”

“When might you find that joy, milord? You know what the women say?”

“I have heard the gossip, Kevin. Afore long, I will take myself a bride.” Just who the unfortunate lass would be was beyond him.

“Thank God. My mama was beginning to worry Castle Kincaid would never ring with the sound of children's laughter again nor glow with the warmth of a lady fair.”

“Kevin, you sound like an old washer woman.”

“Aye, milord, but 'tis time you took a bride. The clan will find hope in it.”

“I am well aware.” Now the task was to find a woman who could survive the harsh Highland weather and create a peaceful home for a man who had never known solace.
You arenae an easy man to live with
. The reminder of his unbending attitude made Iaen wonder if there was such a prize anywhere in the known world. “Be about your duties.”

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
.

“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.