Page 81 of Luthias

“Honestly? It’s more like getting hit by a bus every time I see you. You’re a very attractive man.” She looked up, pressing her lips together for a moment before she said, “I really wish we came from the same time. That would make this so much simpler.”

In his mind an image of her in his bed flashed. Lit only by firelight, Emery smiled sleepily at him, and then turned over to show him her bare back. The vision felt so real he took another step toward her, closing the gap between them.

“Whoa, there, big guy.” Emery reached out and touched his arm. “That was not an invitation. Eventually I have to return to my time, and you have to stay here. In the meantime you have lots of laird stuff to do, and I’m going to somehow save the clan. We’ve got to be sensible, right?”

“Sensible.” He wanted the word banished from her thoughts, if only to see what she would do when she felt reckless. The image of her in his bed also left him feeling bemused. Was he somehow seeing a night soon to come?

“I’m pretty sure we should be.” Her eyelids drooped as he bent his head toward hers. “Then there’s the possibility of shifting the timeline. Anything I do to change things now could alter my future dramatically. I really can’t, ah, do anything stupid while I’m here.”

“I might,” Luthias said, feeling her breath mixing with his.

“Och, here you two dally.” As they stepped apart Darach came down the path from the garrison’s quarters to join them. “I’ve reports from the patrols you need hear, my lord.” He smiled at Emery. “I reckoned you’d be in the forge another hour or more, lass.”

Luthias saw her swallow hard before she grinned back at the chieftain.

“Camdyn probably needs a break from me. You know how he is about girls.” She lifted her hand and wagged her finger, imitating the armor’s scowl as she said in a much gruffer voice, “‘’Tis unseemly for a wench to ken so much of blades and war hammers. Didnae your màthair teach you to hold your tongue? A proper lady sits quiet and speaks modest.’ I hear lots and lots of that.”

“You’ll never be a proper lady, then, lass,” Darach said.

As the chieftain chuckled, Luthias looked at Emery’s pretty face, now gilded by a sunbeam, and felt his heart wrench. She shall never be my lady.

Chapter Six

Surviving in the fourteenth century wasn’t quite as tough as Emery had always assumed. Although a couple of things might have made her days a little easier––namely shampoo and conditioner, modern plumbing, and the washer/dryer combo from her apartment––living at the castle turned out to be pretty comfortable. She liked what she was learning about medieval life and Scottish highlanders, the reality of which often differed a lot from what she’d read in books. She enjoyed the food, which proved much tastier than historians had theorized, and discovered the many other pleasures of a much simpler life.

Luthias had given her a guest room down the hall from his chamber, which contained a small canopied bed with a feather mattress along with a chair and a large trunk. Recessed spaces in the walls held lanterns, and the fire in the hearth made the chilly nights almost comfortable. Darach had set up a table and chair for her to use as a desk, and the clan’s scribes had been nice enough to give her some parchment, quills and an inkpot so she could make notes on what she learned each day. She just wished she had something to do or someone to talk to before she went to bed.

Knowing the laird was only a few doors away always made it hard for Emery to fall asleep.

Living in a place among so many medieval men taught Emery plenty of valuable lessons, and not only about history and swords. The first thing she realized was the fight between Luthias and Camdyn was not an isolated incident; all of the men seemed to regularly get into fist fights. Sometimes they shoved each other around, and other times they beat each other bloody. Instead of stopping them, the other men would gather around to watch and call out encouragement.

“Not again,” Emery said during the evening meal, when two of the guards both smiled at Cerys, the youngest and prettiest kitchen maid, and then scowled at each other after she left the hall. She turned to Taveon. “There’s going to be another fight. Why don’t you stop this one before it starts?”

“I’m the war master, lass, no’ a wet nurse.” He glanced over at the guards, and sighed as they got up with their fists bunched. “Ah, ’tis Wal and Muir again. Pay no heed to them. ’Tis but lovesickness.”

“No heed? Wal still has a black eye from the last time they rumbled over that girl,” she pointed out. “It’s like every other day lately. Come on, please? I can’t eat when I hear knuckles crunching.”

“Lads,” Taveon called out. “That kitchen wench, she’s promised to the miller’s lad. Cease your tussling over her and eat your meal.”

“See?” Emery said as the guards subsided and sat back down with sulky expressions. “Was that so difficult?”

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.”