Just in Time for a Highlander (24 page)

Duncan emerged from the wardrobe, closed the doors, and did a little tap dance.

A cascade of giggles brought him up cold. He turned around.

Three young women in robes and diaphanous chemises stood before Abby’s fire. One was Nora, the maid who’d overheard him offering Abby his companionship his first night at Kerr Castle. The other two he did not recognize.

“Lady Kerr asked us to ensure you were comfortably settled,” said one of the unknown ones, a blond with fine, wide cheekbones.

“Did she?” He took a step backward and tripped over Abby’s bow, catching himself with the bedpost only by luck. A tidal wave of heat crashed over his cheeks. “I am actually as uncomfortable as a man could be,” he said, prompting another dizzying peal of laughter from the two he didn’t recognize.

Nora frowned at her companions. “There’s brandy on the table, and Sionnach brought up a pitcher of hot water if you wish to wash before you begin. Would you like me to take your plaid?”

His hands shot up as if she were brandishing an ax. “I am quite attached to it at present,” he said.

“As you wish. Lady Kerr is really the best at this, but she does not wish for you to have to wait. She told me to tell you that Sionnach has strong, steady hands, and that she can have it out of you in no time. Then you can relax.”

“Um…”

“I brought a strip of leather, but I dinna think you’ll need it. Forgive the girls for laughing. ’Tis perfectly reasonable for someone to be shy and perhaps even a wee bit scared about such a thing. It must hurt terribly to have a splinter in your…well, gentlemanly parts. And dinna worry, we won’t say anything about this to anyone. You can return to your bedchamber the same way you arrived.”

Duncan breathed an enormous sigh of relief. “I thank you for your kind offer. I should never submit proper young ladies to such a thing. Lady Kerr, though hardly less proper, is more used to the wounds of battle. So long as I move with care, I am in very little pain. I will wait for her attention.”

Attention that will include a proper punishment for the mischief she has made.

Sionnach and the other girl curtsied and left. Nora drew closer, sympathy in her eyes. “The notion that you will be attended upon in this matter by the woman who spurned your advance must be doubly embarrassing to you,” she said. “I am sorry.” She lowered her voice. “I also wish to tell you that the same thing happened to my sister’s husband after the Battle of Dunkeld, and for many weeks he was afraid he had lost the use of the thing entirely. But you may rejoice. With my sister’s patient help, he was able to regain full claim on his male pride.”

“Oh, I am verra glad to hear that.”

“There is a girl here—Caileag—who works in the distillery.” Her voice fell to a whisper. “She is…not verra particular about certain things. She may be able to help you should it come to that.”

Oh, Abby, you will regret this…
“Thank you. I’ll remember that.”

“You’re welcome.”

Nora scurried out and closed the door. The brandy looked too good to pass up. He headed straight for the bottle, only to jump when he found Undine leaning against the wall by the door.

“Jesus,” he said, “do you ever knock or hum or
anything
?”

“Almost never. I hear you served your chieftess well today, sir.”

“Nailed it. Which reminds me”—He pulled the bag of herbs from his sporran and tossed it on the table—“I think you gave me a defective pack. You said it would begin to warm when I’d fulfilled my role as a strong arm. Feel it. Colder than a witc—”

He stopped.

She cocked her head. “Pardon?”

“Colder than one would wish. Maybe it’s the same problem you’re having with Serafina.”

“I doubt it.”

“In any case, there’s no rush.” He filled two goblets with generous portions of brandy. “I think I’m going to stay for a while.”

“I see.”

He offered one of the goblets to her, and she shook her head.

He shrugged and took a long sip. “Between Sir Alan’s visit and the canal and, well, Abby, I’ve pretty much decided that I want to—”

“Sir Alan isn’t coming.”

The words drained the happiness from him. “How do you know?”

“I received his messenger during your supper. It seems Sir Alan was made privy late this afternoon to a statement regarding various indiscretions on the part of our chieftess—a statement, it seems, that was signed by the voluptuary herself.”

Bridgewater’s messenger would have had to
run
to Carlisle to put it into Sir Alan’s hands. That bloody bastard.

“According to the messenger,” Undine said, “Sir Alan feels his original determination was the correct one. He has no reason to impugn Lady Kerr’s name, and will certainly keep her indiscretions to himself, but the Kerrs under their current chief represent too great a risk for the Bank of Scotland. He will not be able to recommend an investment to his board of directors.”

“Indiscretions? If indiscretion made a man a bad risk for investment, half the world’s empires would have failed.” He felt sick. “Does Abby know?”

“Not yet. But someone will have to tell her.” The look on Undine’s face made it clear who she thought that someone should be.

He gazed, unseeing, into the fire, his brain spinning through the options a mile a minute. “Well, this much is true,” he said quickly, his mouth a half step behind his brain, “there are more banks here than just the Bank of Scotland. And more investors. The hell with Sir Alan! All we need to do is create an offering!”

“Duncan.”

“It wouldn’t be hard. The location is unbeatable. And the work has already begun. There are blueprints around here somewhere. There must be. If I could just get to Edinburgh. That’s where the men with the money are. That’s where I could—”

“
Duncan
.”

His planning dribbled to a stop.

“The time for schemes is over,” she said flatly. “The estate taxes are due, and she doesn’t have the gold to pay them. You must tell her to marry Rosston.”

The traces of brandy on his tongue lost their sweetness. “I did tell her. I told her I would support whatever decision she made.”

“With you standing in the wings, reminding her every day of what she’s given up? You’re her adviser, aye? What would be your advice if she were a man and Rosston an heiress?”

He didn’t want to hear it. “No.”

“Have you considered the possibility that the herbs aren’t warming because you haven’t actually fulfilled your duty?”

“Oh, I see. And if I tell her to marry Rosston, suddenly I’ll be free to go?”

“Not free to go. Compelled. The herbs are not some bloody door you swing open and closed whenever it suits you, like the door on Abby’s wardrobe. At the first ray of dawn, on the day after you have fulfilled your duty, the herbs will heat, spark, and burn out. And when they do, you will be sent back to your own time instantly, never to return.”

He felt like he’d been sucker punched. “Then I will never tell her to marry Rosston. Not if that’s to be my fate.”

“And that is how you would serve the woman you love?”

Abby opened the door and slipped inside with Grendel behind her. “
Och
,” she said with a grin. “I’ve never been so happy to see a bottle of brandy—and my two favorite people, of course, though at this point the brandy comes first. Will you stay for a drink, Undine?”

“I won’t.” She gave Abby a long embrace and kissed both cheeks. “I shall find you in the morning. First thing, do you understand?” Then she met Duncan’s eyes. “Do your job, eh?”

“What job?” Abby said. “I canna think there are too many jobs left in this day. I feel like the day has already been long enough for ten. Did you enjoy my little joke? Though I suppose I wouldna be laughing if you had tried taking them up on anything.”

“Aye, especially after they screamed for the footman.”

“More likely slipped a knife in your heart. They are always armed.”

He led her to the settee and put the second goblet in her hand.

“Are you sure this is where you want to start?” Her eyes twinkled wickedly as she sipped.

“I do not wish for it to start at all.” He hung his head. “Sir Alan’s messenger arrived during dinner. He willna be coming.”

“Not tomorrow?”

“Not ever.”

Her lip made the smallest quiver, but he knew she would not cry. Not yet.

He explained what Undine had told him regarding Bridgewater, Sir Alan, and the statement.

She put the brandy on the table. It seemed as if both of them had lost the taste for it.

“Bloody English prick.”

He said, “You were right, you know. About how he would use the statement.”

“I didna think it would be so soon.”

He took her hands and caressed them with his thumbs. “We took a risk. It didn’t work. That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t have done it.”

“And what is our plan now?”

He thought about everything that had happened since his arrival and how nothing in his life before her could have prepared him for what he was about to say. “The plan is simple. You will marry Rosston.”

“I don’t want to marry Rosston,” she said, surprised. “Why are you saying such a thing?”

“He has the funds to bail out your clan and build the canal. With a partner like Rosston, you will make your clan strong again. He’ll do whatever you want. I have no doubt. And he’ll do it well. The man is smart, Abby. And he cares about you.”

“You said I wouldna have to marry him. You said—”

“I was wrong. I
wished
you wouldna have to marry him, but I do not possess the means to change what must be.”

She shook her head. “Couldn’t we go to Edinburgh or Glasgow? There are men my father knows—”

“No, Abby, the time has come to accept what’s best for the clan. Think about it—you pay your taxes, your people eat, your clan grows, and the canal fills your coffers. With Rosston as your husband—”

She pulled her hands away. “You said you would fight for me.”

His throat tightened and he struggled to stay on course. It would be so easy to carry her down that narrow staircase, climb onto the back of a horse, and marry her in the nearest church. He could support her as a bookkeeper. She’d never again have to worry about anything here.

Here. Bloody, bloody
here
.

“Abby,” he said softly, “that was a dream. It was a dream I wanted to believe. But it canna be. I’m telling you as your friend: if ye do not accept Rosston’s proposal and save your clan, ye will die an unhappy woman.”

The balance in her eyes tilted unsteadily, back and forth, between the wild hope of a life with Duncan and the reality of what was before it. He watched as the balance settled slowly, slowly on the side of her clan.

Done
.

The herbs on the table made an almost inaudible hiss, though it could have been the fire. Her acceptance was so complete, it had transformed their closeness into a breach of etiquette. Duncan slid away. “I believe I shall say good night.”

He was almost to the wardrobe before she spoke.

“I shall always have ye as a friend, will I not?”

He stopped but did not turn. “I havena told you everything.”

“Nae,” she said, voice brimming. “Ye canna push me into Rosston’s arms and leave me too.”

“I shouldna stay. You and I both know that. Besides,” he said, coming round to face her, “I should die if I had to be here.”

Her face contracted and she clasped her hands, but only someone who didn’t know her as well as he would assume she was stricken. Her silence was an act of girding. She’d lived through a mother’s death and a brother’s, through an exile and violent and unhappy return, and she’d looked into the face of death and the destruction of her people. She would survive his leaving. The question was would he?

He began to say good-bye but found himself too overcome to speak.

She ran toward him lightly and put her hands on his face.

Robbed of speech, he was now robbed of the power of movement as well.

“When will you leave?”

“Dawn. I—I—It’s not me. It’s Undine’s herbs.” He gestured weakly toward the packet. “I have done what I was called here to do, Abby. The spell will send me back to my time the moment the sun rises.”

She picked up his hand and cradled it to her cheek. “You are a strong arm.”

The softness of her skin physically hurt him.

“Come to my bed,” she said.

“You canna ask me that,” he croaked. “I dinna have the strength to say no. You must stop us. I cannot.”

She pulled him to the bed. He lay on his side and she curled behind him, her arm clutching his. Grendel leaped up beside them and stretched out, staring sadly into Duncan’s eyes.

“I didna mean to make love,” Abby said. “I just want to hold you.”

He pressed himself into her embrace, tantalized by the closeness, trying to collect and preserve every sensation.

“Will your family be glad for your return? You have a family, aye? I know of your grand-da, of course. And ye said ye had no siblings. Oh, dear, I never asked if you have a wife. Do you?”

He made a bittersweet chuckle. “No.” Nor did he ever expect to. Not now. “My mother’s gone. No siblings. My grand-da is all I have. I will be glad to see him.”

“Will ye tell him about me?”

“He’ll be glad to hear I was in love with a Scottish girl. I live in America now, you see, and he is desperate afraid I’ll marry one of them.”

“
Och
. An American? Ye would never find happiness with any but a Scottish lass. I knew that the moment I saw ye.”

“Did ye now? Was that before or after you threatened to put an arrow between my eyes?”

“’Twas your shoulder—barely. And knowing ye need a Scottish lass is not the same as wishing to be the girl myself, ye ken? That came a bit later. Just around the time you stood before me naked.”

“Oh, I see. I wanted to talk to you about that, actually.”

“
Och
, I hope you’re not expecting an apology for none will be offered. Your eyes feasted on my body. I intended to enjoy the same privilege.” She sighed. “And enjoy it I did. Regarding your marriage, though—”

Duncan groaned.

“I do think a Scottish girl would be best. I thought that from the moment we first talked.”

“Even when you threatened to have me locked in my room?”

“Oh, aye. Many’s the knave who’s been improved by a provident marriage.”

“Knave, is it? I guess it’s an improvement over simpleton.”

“Oh, Duncan, how I will miss this.”

For a long moment she was still, and only the slightest twitch betrayed her tears. He chose to give her privacy and to try to mortify his longing. The business of growing calluses must begin. In a few hours more, neither of them would have a choice.

“I will nae forget you, Duncan MacHarg.”

“Nor I you.”

Grendel put his head between his paws and let out a long, doleful whimper.

*

Duncan emerged from a fright-filled dream in which he had been falling and falling. He reached for Abby. She was still there. As was he. The room was dark but not black. The coming sunrise lived like a rat-gray promise in the sky outside the window.

Why
did
I
wake? Let her sleep through it at least. Oh God, let her sleep.

They had talked until they could talk no more. He had told her every shred of history he could remember regarding this dark time for Scotland. He didn’t care if his telling changed history. He didn’t care if his telling swept the future clean away. He hoped it would take him with it.

She had asked a hundred questions, making him repeat the stories until she had memorized every detail. She was a canny lass, as canny as they come. He had also gotten her to promise to pay Nab for his work and to give him a position in the clan. Duncan had left Scotland’s future in good hands.

He stretched his legs, wondering if he would feel the removal before it happened.

She caught his arm, as awake as he.

“Not yet,” he said. “A few minutes, at least.”

The grip relaxed. She uncurled herself and made a noise, as plain an invitation as he’d ever heard, and he kissed her. She tasted of brandy and sad longing, as he probably did. But however heavy his heart was, his mouth and loins stirred with desire. He wanted her.

“I will have ye,” she said.

She climbed to her knees and lowered herself onto him. Wool and linen tangled between them as they ground their hips roughly. He could barely make out her face but her hungry breaths told him what he would see. He found her buttocks, bare and warm, and clasped them roughly. He wanted to blister her thighs, and she wanted it too.

He was lost in the feral taking. She stretched her arms, reaching, reaching for the peak that would bind them forever.

“Give me your child,” she whispered, drunk with fire and desperation.

“Abby, no.”

He was helpless to stop it. She began a long, slow arch, and he heard a sizzle. The room behind her lit up like a Guy Fawkes celebration.

“Duncan,” she cried. “Oh, Duncan.”

He landed on a damp, dark patch of grass, under the first bleak rays of a Scottish dawn, with the distant sounds of the A7 replacing the heartbreaking cry in his ears, his ejaculation two beats too late.

He put his hands over his eyes. “
Och
, Abby.”