Page 44 of The Finest Scottish Fate

“Rare for this time of year.” He joined her, moving the table so they could both stand at the window. Pushing it open wider, he scanned the gray vista below. “Ice in October. I canna remember the last time I saw such.”

She drew her hand back inside and dried it in the folds of her skirts. “I hope Morganna can make it back safely.”

“The Dark Ones adore ice because it prevents life from moving on. This will not slow her.” He took note of the high color on Evie’s cheeks and the sheen of unshed tears in her eyes. “Dinna let worries about what may or may not happen steal yer joys of today.”

She spared him a frown. “That’s easy for you to say. You weren’t torn away from everything you’ve ever known and tossed into a place that might as well be a different planet.” She reached out for the rain again. “Sorry. None of this is your fault, and I shouldn’t take it out on you.”

“Tell me about yer life in yer Nashville.”

“I already did…pretty much. I was a dispatcher for a logistics company.”

He eased closer and pulled her icy hand back inside, but left the window open so they both might watch the power of the storm. “I dinna ken what that is, lass. What is a logistics company? What is a dispatcher?”

Her eyes narrowed with a pained thoughtfulness as she stared out the window, but didn’t see a thing. “The logistics company I worked for had a fleet of trucks—horseless wagons or land ships—that hauled goods for people to buy. I coordinated where they would go to pick up those goods and deliver them.” A sadness tainted her faint smile. “The drivers were my friends. My family. Since I didn’t have any family left living.”

“What happened to yer kin?” He flinched at the coarseness of the question. What the devil was wrong with him? “If ye dinna wish to speak of it, I understand.”

She huffed with a laugh that held no humor. “Technically, since I’m here in 1326, none of them have even been born.” Thoughtful again, she turned to him. “I wonder if Morganna and them ever send anyone back to fix a timeline?”

“Fix a timeline?”

“My parents and siblings were killed in a terrible accident. If I could go back in time to just before it happened, I could warn them.”

All his mother’s teachings about the auld ways rushed back to him, making him thankful he’d listened to her. “If ye warned them and they didn’t die, if ye nay experienced all ye experienced because of their deaths, ye’d not be the person ye are today. ’Tis a dangerous thing to dabble with history and change it. Ye never really know what different outcome ye might cause.”

“Am I not changing this timeline by being here? I’m not supposed to be in this century.” She fumbled with the tiny, cloth-covered buttons running up the inside of her snug sleeves. “What if I unknowingly set in motion a change that could be catastrophic in the future?”

He studied her for a long moment, then took hold of her arm and unbuttoned her sleeves for her. Then he removed her mantle and draped it over the back of a chair. “Turn, and I’ll undo the buttons in the back so we can remove the outer dress. Ye’ll be more comfortable in naught but yer kirtle.”

“Thank you.” She gave him her back and bowed her head, waiting with a trusting patience that warmed his heart.

“Appears to me, ye like to worry.” He prayed that didn’t anger her. “If ye’re not fretting about what will happen to ye if I die first, ye’re afraid ye’ll be the end of the world by something ye set in motion in this time.” He turned her to face him, gently holding her by the shoulders. “Let go, lass. The fate of humanity does not rest on ye and the choices ye make.”

“No, but my fate does.” She pulled away, gathered up the heavy layers of the velvet gown, and fought to drag it off over her head.

“Merlin’s beard, lass. Allow me to help ye.” He untangled her, slipped it off over her head, and draped the garment over the same chair as the mantle. “And yer fate is yer fate. All any of us can do is meet each day as it comes and fight our best fight. Worry does nothing but weaken ye.”

“You sound like my granddaddy.” She snatched off her circlet, pulled out her hair combs, and fumbled with the ribbons and hairpins securing her hair. “He’d always say, Don’t borrow trouble from tomorrow when there’s always trouble enough for today.”

“Yer grandsire was a wise man.” Drummond found himself mesmerized by the way the candlelight danced on her curls as she let down her mane and ran her fingers through it. “Yer hair is filled with the coppers and golds of a dragon’s hoard. Ye are a treasure, m’love.” He pulled in a deep breath and let it out. “My treasure,” he added softly.

Her hands dropped to her sides as she turned and faced him, then slowly shook her head. “Why are you so accepting of all this? Doesn’t all the strange, mystical stuff bother you in the least?”

“It did the first time I saw ye.”

“You didn’t act like it.”

“Nay, lass. I saw ye days before ye actually arrived. Ye came to me in a vision. Appeared in a mist on the sidhe hill. Murdoch was with me, but he couldn’t see ye. That in itself told me ye were for me alone.”

Rumbles and thumps beyond the bedchamber door told him the servants had brought in the food and drink he’d ordered. He held a finger to his lips to keep Evie quiet. Trusted or not, the temptation of pressing an ear to the door might prove to be too much for the maids who loved nothing more than a bit of gossip.

Evie frowned, confused.

He pointed at the door just as someone knocked.

Immediate understanding came over her, then she answered the door. “Yes?”

“I be Mary, m’lady,” said the maid, hidden from Drummond’s view by most of the door. “All is ready and laid out for his lordship and yerself to sup. Cook said to be sure and let us know if there be anything else needed.”