Page 31 of The Finest Scottish Fate

“But it’s so dangerous here.” All Evie had ever read or seen about history’s hazards exploded through her mind like dozens of live grenades. “Diseases. Childbirth. War. An injury that in my time would be minor is fatal here. I’m thirty-two years old. That’s old here. I don’t want to die in a couple of years.”

“No century guarantees longevity or survival.” Morganna paced back and forth across the room. “Each time has its own dangers. Who’s to say that if ye returned to yer time, ye wouldn’t get killed in some sort of accident? The twenty-first century offers no guarantee of living longer.”

“No, but it’s got better odds than the fourteenth century.” Evie felt sure about that.

“But wouldn’t life with yer one true love be worth those odds?” Morganna covered her heart with both hands. “All I have risked for my Callum has been worth it. Were I asked to do it all over again, I would without hesitation.”

Oh, to know a love like that, a little voice inside Evie whispered. She swallowed hard, took a deep breath, held it for a long moment, and then released it. “I’m afraid,” she said, ashamed to admit it.

“Ye’d be a fool if ye weren’t.” Morganna helped her to her feet and gave her a slow, up-and-down look. “Ye’re a beauty, Lady Evie, but the fairness of yer appearance canna compare to the loveliness of yer heart. Yer aura burns brightly, child. Brighter than it did in yer time. Give this place a chance. I beg ye.”

“You’ll stay here with me and help me fit in so I can decide what I want to do?” Evie couldn’t believe she was saying this, but something deep inside told her that Morganna wasn’t about to let her return to the twenty-first century without giving the fourteenth century a shot.

“Aye, lass. I shall be happy to remain as Mistress Martha, clan healer, and Lady Evie Waterton’s personal advisor. At least for a time—until ye feel well and truly settled.”

“Fine.” Evie wiped her sweating palms on the folds of her wool gown and eyed the door. “What do we do now?”

“Wait for yer beloved to return and see yer health much improved.”

Chapter Eight

After telling Murdoch about the frustrating results of his meeting with Glengarten, Drummond slowly climbed the stairs to his private floor. His loyal friend had promised to speak with Mrs. Farris again and warn the woman about the council’s wishes to impress Clan Heberdy. That calmed Drummond somewhat, since Mrs. Farris, housekeeper of Dubh Tower for many a year, had always been quite fond of him and more inclined to heed his wishes rather than the council’s.

As Drummond approached his suite, his doorward, Griogair, squared his shoulders and stood taller. “All is well, m’lord. Mistress Martha is still inside, but she sent for drink and a bit of food for Lady Evie a while ago. ’Tis my understanding that yer lady’s constitution is much improved from what it was when she arrived.”

That news lightened Drummond’s heart even more. “Thank ye, Griogair. Carry on.” He entered through the solar, crossed to the seldom-used of the two large bedchambers, started to enter, then remembered his manners and knocked. “Evie?”

Mistress Martha opened the door, confronting him with a narrow-eyed squint. “The lady is much better, m’lord. She even asked that I become her personal advisor and take up residence here with her. She says it brings her comfort to have me by her side.”

“Here?” There was naught but the pair of adjoining bedchambers, his own and whoever he took as a wife, along with his solar and a small sitting room in this suite of private rooms. He had hoped to develop a closeness with Evie that Mistress Martha’s presence might hinder. “The servants for this floor have quarters at the end of the hallway. We shall have to ensure there is an available bed for ye.”

The old crone’s wrinkled face puckered even more. She shook a bent finger at him, then jabbed it downward, pointing at the floor. “The lady was quite adamant that I stay here, m’lord. With her. I felt sure ye would wish her happy.”

“Of course I want her happy.” He also wanted to develop an intimacy with this mysterious lass. He’d never experienced such a need to be close to a woman—and not just physically. He needed her to need his presence as badly as he longed for hers. Whenever she was near, he breathed easier, felt whole. “Ye may stay in the private sitting room off the solar. If she summons ye, ye’re but a doorway away, aye?”

The healer adjusted her heavy black shawl around her bony shoulders, then glanced back into the room behind her. “I shall see what she has to say about that, m’lord.”

“Is yer loyalty not to yer lord first? Did ye not swear fealty to me when ye first arrived?”

“Of course, m’lord, but did ye not bid me see to the lady’s needs before all else?” She arched her graying brows nearly to her silvery hairline. “I dinna claim to be her chaperone, m’lord. I am merely here to keep the lady happy.” She cleared her throat. “A happy lady is a pliable lady. If ye ken my meaning.”

He knew her meaning, all right. At least the old woman understood that he hoped to develop a closeness with the lovely lass on the other side of this door. “Verra well, then. We shall see if Lady Evie finds the sitting room acceptable. If not, a suitable couch in her private chamber will be provided for ye.”

With a gracious nod, the wily crone stepped aside and bade him enter with a wave of her hand.

Barely over the threshold, he halted, unable to take a step farther. Gone was the bedraggled, rain-swept beauty from the sidhe hill at the center of the Black Forest. In her place was an enchanting woman who stole the very breath from his body.

Evie rose from the table beside the window, brushing crumbs from the burgundy kirtle that brought out the rich auburn of her tresses. She swept her gaze from his boot tips to the top of his head and frowned. “You haven’t changed out of your wet things yet. You’re going to catch your death.”

Gads alive, she already sounded like a wife, and it was the sweetest music he’d ever heard. The thought startled him, then settled into his bones like a warm tonic, making him smile. “I’ll be fine, lass. I’ve the sturdiness of a Highland coo.”

“And ye’ll be smelling like one if ye dinna change out of yer wet traveling clothes,” Mistress Martha said from behind him.

Evie covered her mouth to hide her smile, but the mirth dancing in her eyes betrayed her. She cleared her throat and returned to her seat at the table. “We asked for something to eat, and they sent loads of food. Would you like to join us?”

“Excuse me,” Mistress Martha interrupted again. “I need to fetch my things, m’lady, since I’ll be staying with ye. I’m sure ye dinna mind my leaving ye with such fine company.”

Drummond forgave the woman for the cow comment but committed it to memory. Never forgetting a barb was one of his less admirable traits, but it helped keep the lines clearly drawn between his allies and his enemies.