Jamie leaned in front of her and looked at him pointedly. “Not,” he said distinctly, “in any sort of private chamber.”
Oliver rolled his eyes. “I am a gentleman.”
“And I am this lass’s nearest kin.”
Oliver bowed his head deferentially. “Of course, my laird. It will be as you wish.”
Mairead looked at Jamie, had a pleasant smile as her reward, and suspected this might have been how her sisters felt whenever some lad came to the hall with wooing on his mind. She glanced at Oliver to see what his opinion might be only to find him watching her still with that look of… well,awewas the only word she could bring to mind.
“Thank you,” she managed.
“You are very,verywelcome.”
And that, she found, was the extent of the conversation she was going to have with him at the moment.
It was very odd to be walking toward her own home, yet realizing she was hundreds of years out of her time. The stables were still where they’d been, the keep itself looked as it always had, and the courtyard was happily free of men with her death on their minds.
Instead, she found strange conveyances with wheels, flowers planted in spots where none had been before, and what she could have sworn was a door that was slightly newer than the one her brother had slammed shut every time he’d come and gone through it.
The inside of the hall had definitely seen some improvements, which she heartily agreed with. There were no rushes on the floor and the entire place smelled as fresh and clean as the outdoors. There was also hanging in the air a scent that she hoped might signal some sort of decent supper. She wasn’t quite sure when she’d eaten last.
Hundreds of years ago, most likely.
“Are you thinking subversive thoughts?” Oliver asked.
“Thoughts about supper, rather, and how many years it’s been since I had it last.”
He smiled. “I’m sure Jamie can remedy that. I’ll let him introduce you to his family, but I think you’ll find they’re very lovely.”
What she did know was that she didn’t particularly care for his releasing her hand, though she supposed he would need to eventually so she might eat. She met Jamie’s wife Elizabeth and had to bite her tongue not to assure her grandmother, who could scarce have been old enough to be her mother, that her fame had lived on in the past, if only in the mind of Lachlan MacLeod.
Their children were staring at her with wide eyes, but she supposed that had less to do with her face and more to do with her dress.
“Mairead has traveled a long way today,” Elizabeth said in comfortingly perfect Gaelic, “so we’ll save all our questions for her until tomorrow and just see that she’s comfortable tonight. Who wants to sit next to her at the table? All right, Patricia you take one side and Robert the other. Ian, you and Oliver can watch over them and make certain they don’t keep her from eating her dinner.”
Mairead found herself taken in hand by a young girl who reminded her quite a bit of Fiona and a young lad who actually looked a great deal like Ambrose. She took comfort in that familiarity and allowed them to shepherd her across the hall to the kitchens.
She stepped inside that same chamber where she’d passed so many of her hours in the past and felt herself freeze in place. So much was the same, but how many things had changed. There were additions in the form of worktables with boxes under them and shiny things where there had been nothing but walls and kitchen lads and maids before—
Though she supposed she wasn’t as surprised as she might have been if she hadn’t seen similar things inside Moraig MacLeod’s wee croft. She glanced at Oliver who smiled encouragingly at her, then turned back to face her doom. She had faced down the witch’s house in two different centuries; she could survive supper in her ancestral home.
She had to admit she was pleased to find that Oliver had very politely bargained away something to Robert for the privilege of sitting next to her and hoped it had been worth it to him. She supposed he ate when given the chance, but every time she looked at him, he seemed to be watching her.
“Am I doing this poorly?” she whispered. “My manners—”
“Are perfect,” he said. He smiled briefly. “I just have to keep looking to make sure I haven’t dreamed you.”
She realized Jamie’s children were watching her with undisguised curiosity—and no doubt wondering why she was blushing so furiously.
“Is it a good dream?” she asked frankly.
“Mairead,” he said, sounding genuinely appalled. He reached for her hand under the table and held it securely. “It is a beautiful dream. I’ll tell you just how lovely when I have a chance to talk to you without your grandfather glaring daggers at me.”
She glanced at the lord of the keep, then back at her rescuer. “I think he’s doing that for my benefit.”
“Iknowhe’s doing it for your benefit, which you completely deserve.” He smiled, then squeezed her hand again, his smile fading. “You’ll be all right?”
She took a deep breath. “I will. And you?”
