Page 21 of Luthias

The war master grunted. “Aye, for now I must convince Cerys’s sire to wed her to the miller’s lad.”

She swallowed a giggle. “Why don’t you try to make peace with the Carack? I know you have a truce, but you could do better than a cease-fire.” As he gave her a puzzled look she added, “You’ve promised to stop fighting, and leave each other’s clans alone, but why not find a way to end the hostilities permanently by becoming allies?”

“Callum Carack doesnae want for allies, lass,” Taveon said. “With the gems and gold his clan mines he’s bought every nobleman and greedy laird for hundreds of leagues to the east.” He put down his spoon. “The Carack share blood with Prince Kaer, just as we share Ross’s. They’re ice to our fire. The two, they’re meant to destroy the other, just as the princes wished to do. Only we cannae prevail, nor can they.”

“So this hatred between the clans dates all the way back to the time of the Fae princes?” When he nodded Emery understood the situation a little better. “What’s Callum Carack like?”

“Like all arrogant wealthy bastarts with ice for blood,” Taveon said, looking a little depressed rather than angry. “Beware the Carack, lass. They all sport white-blue birthing marks, like the red on Darach’s face or Ameron’s neck. See a patch that color on any man’s hide, and you’ll ken them for our enemy.”

Time seemed to move very slowly at first. After a couple of days Emery realized why: she wasn’t spending any time working on computers, talking and texting on her phone, watching television and even listening to the radio in her car. When she got up in the morning all she had to do was dress and head downstairs. The clan gathered in the great hall in clusters for their morning meal, so she was able to sit and talk to a different group of men every morning. She also offered to help out in the kitchens or with serving, but Cook told her she’d just be underfoot, so instead she helped the maids clear the tables and scrubbed dishes alongside the sculleries.

Her only real headache proved to be having only a single outfit to wear, and after handwashing her things for a few days she asked Darach if she could borrow a change from one of the other women. He instead sent the clan’s head seamstress and a maid to fit her for some new clothes.

“Isn’t this a bit much?” she mentioned to the seamstress who had draped her in three layers of wool and linen. “I can wear a tartan if I get cold. Also, the skirts are really heavy. Can’t I have some pants? Ah, trews? Please?”

The older woman straightened. “Why should you wish to wear men’s garments? ’Tis uncommon for a lady to dress thus.”

The maid helping her nodded her agreement. “Unseemly as well, my lady.”

Emery now understood the strange looks she’d gotten from all the other women in the castle. “In my time––I mean, my country––it’s very seemly. I promise.”

“We ken that you’re from the future, my lady.” The seamstress smiled. “’Tis all the gossip in the workrooms, how the Fire Sword brought you to the clan.” She glanced at the maid, and then leaned closer to whisper, “If you’re set on wearing them, then I’ve some trews I made for the stable lads that should fit you. I’ll fetch them now.”

“That would be excellent,” she whispered back.

After helping her out of the gowns, and giving her modern lingerie one last wide-eyed look the seamstress told the maid to take Emery’s clothes to the laundress, and both women left. Emery wrapped herself up in the tartan Darach had lent her and went to sit by the fire. Without the benefit of central heat and air the stronghold tended to be like a refrigerator, and away from her room her hands and feet stayed almost constantly numb with cold. She propped her bare feet close to the hearth to let the heat warm them.

“You’ve bairn’s toes,” a familiar voice said just above her head.

“Hey, my lord.” Emery looked up to see Luthias standing over her, as if he’d stepped out of one of her fantasies. “You have cat feet. I never hear you come into a room.” She needed to stop staring at him like a lovestruck ninny and get away from him, and then remembered she had on nothing but the tartan and her underwear. “What’s up?”

“I brought you a gift.” He came around the chair and crouched down by her bare feet. “They’re no’ as pretty as your dagger-heeled shoes, but they should keep these bairn toes of yours warmer.”

She watched as he took hold of one foot and put it in a small, fur-lined brown boot that had obviously been stitched together by hand. Feeling his hands on her made the rest of her body heat up in an instant.

“Did you steal these from one of the stable lads?” Emery asked a little breathlessly.

“I had our boot-maker fashion them for you.” Once he put the other one on her he stood. “Walk to see how they fit.”

As Emery stood up the tartan she’d wrapped around her fell away from her body. Luthias stared down at her lingerie with the puzzled expression of a man who had never seen such things on a woman. Which, of course, he hadn’t. She started to cover up again, but the chance to turn this into a teaching moment proved irresistible.

“These are twenty-first century under garments called a bra and panties. Women wear these instead of shifts and drawers in my time.” She went still as he reached out to trace his finger along her bra strap. “Your seamstress thinks they’re funny-looking.”

“I’m no’ laughing,” Luthias murmured, looking fascinated now. “’Tis tailored like a second skin on you.”

Teach, Emery, teach.

“Actually we have this stuff called elastic that makes them fit so well.” She put her hand over his, intending to demonstrate the stretchiness of the strap, but then pressed his hand against the top of her breast. Was it wrong to want to push his hand down a little more? She couldn’t quite remember why, with all the tiny rockets of excitement bouncing around inside her chest now.

“’Tis lovely.” He drew his hand out from under hers, and in the process skimmed his palm over her bra cup. “The fabric, ’tis so white and soft.”

Thanks to the rockets he’d set off, the hot flush warming Emery’s insides surfaced and crept up her neck. She really had to get a grip on herself now. He was just curious, and people of his time were a lot touchier. What he was doing didn’t mean anything to him. She should not read into it or jump on him. They had agreed to be sensible.

They had agreed on that, hadn’t they?

“The fabric...ah, it’s called satin.” She swallowed against the sudden tightness in her throat. There was so much of him too close to her, and she had no place to retreat. It didn’t help that she wanted to run her hands over his big, tough body, either. “In this time only royalty can afford it, I think. Or maybe it hasn’t come over from China yet. I can’t remember. What are you doing?”

“Touching you. Your skin, ’tis even softer than the satin.” Luthias’s hand kept skimming down the side of her abdomen, stopping at her hip, where he tucked a thumb in the waistband of her panties. “I never asked if you’ve a husband or lover in your time.”