The Highlander's Bargain (2 page)

He wiped his palms against the wool of his plaid. “I wish to speak with you, Madame Giselle, if you’ve a moment.”

“With me?” The wrinkles lining her face deepened with amusement. “Do you wish to know what the future holds in store for you, Robley of clan MacKintosh? Shall I tell your fortune?” Her eyes narrowed. “’Twill cost you dear.”

“I . . . I seek a favor.” That she knew his name came as a shock, and fear gripped his very bones. Nay. His father was the earl’s brother and seneschal over all the MacKintosh holdings. They were oft in Inverness, sometimes staying for months at a time. The entire village knew who he was. Why wouldn’t Giselle? He took a deep, calming breath and let it out slowly. “’Tis no’ my fortune or my future I’ve come to speak with you about.”

“Hmm. Is it not?” She turned on the path. “Come. I would hear this favor of yours, but first a cup of tea.” She started down the path, leading him farther from the village.

His feet remained fixed in place, while the instinct for self-preservation battled with his compulsion for adventure. He should turn on his heel and run for the safety of the portcullis.

“Come, lad,” Giselle called without turning back. “’Tis far too late to turn back now.”

She lifted a hand in a slight wave, and his legs moved him forward against his will. Goose bumps skittered like mice along his skin, and the prickle of fear had him uttering prayers beneath his breath as his family’s warnings came back to him. No adventure was worth putting his life at risk, and he had no doubt that his life now balanced on the cutting edge of fate’s blade. “I’ve changed my mind,” he called out.

Giselle’s eerie cackle nearly brought him to his knees. “Shite,” he muttered as a fresh sheen of sweat drenched him. He had no choice but to move forward, for his legs were still not abiding by his will. For certes the faerie had her own agenda where he was concerned, and he was no longer certain that it might be for good. How could he have been so naïve?

The path opened to a clearing where a neat cottage stood at the center. Constructed of timber, wattle and daub, the dwelling boasted a newly thatched roof. The toft surrounding the cottage was also tidy, and a few chickens wandered about, pecking the ground, foraging for insects and grain. The sight of the ordinary home eased his panic, and his legs were his own once more. Had he imagined they’d carried him forward of their own volition? Giselle opened the sturdy wooden door and gestured for him to enter.

All manner of herbs hung from the rafters, along with onions, garlic and other vegetables, permeating the interior with savory, earthy smells. A small hearth held a banked fire. Giselle swung a blackened pot hanging from an iron hook over the glowing embers. She stirred the flames back to life and added a square of peat. “Sit.”

He obeyed, curiosity and resolve filling him. Taking one of the two chairs by the scarred wooden table, he kept his eye on her as she fetched two earthenware mugs from a row of shelves built into the wall. True had come to no harm from this being, and if Giselle wished him ill, there was naught he could do to stop her. He swallowed against the tightness in his throat. He’d come for a reason, and he meant to see it through.

He turned his attention to the interior of the dwelling. Giselle lived comfortably. The cottage even had a wood-plank floor instead of packed dirt like so many others. Like the yard, the inside was tidy and held a wealth of household goods. A narrow staircase led to a sleeping loft above, and two curtained windows let in the light and fresh air.

Giselle set a mug of fragrant tea in front of him and took her seat. “What is it you want from me?” she asked, a speculative gleam in her eye.

“I wish to visit the future.”

“Ha! And you believe I’m the one to send you there? What nonsense! I am but a humble healer is all. I tell fortunes and read palms on occasion to supplement my coffers.”

“Nay.” He shook his head. “You are so much more. I ken you have the power. You sent Alethia Goodsky through time. Our lady True told us the tale and revealed enough from the future that I dinna doubt her word. I ken you are one of the ancient ones,
Tuatha Dé Danann.
Faerie. True told us that as well.”

“I see. Then you also
ken
’tis folly for
your
kind to come begging favors from
my
kind.” She shrugged her bony shoulders. “There was a time when such was possible, even commonplace, but it is against our laws to meddle in human affairs now.”

The need to persuade her flooded his senses. “Yet you did so when you brought True to us. You live amongst my kind, tell fortunes and predict futures. Meddlesome activities by all accounts. What is to prevent you from doing so once more?”

She crossed her arms in front of her and shook her head, her wrinkled face resolute. “Nay. ’Tis impossible.”

“I know you needed True to do something for you when you took her through the ages. Is there naught I can do? Can we no’ barter for what we both might want?”

Giselle tapped her chin and scrutinized him. “Did she tell you my true identity? Do you know my name?”

“Nay.” He frowned. “What has that to do with my request?”

“Everything.” She cackled again.

The flesh on his arms and at the back of his neck rose. Her visage shimmered and shifted. A bright blue light shone from her eyes and surrounded her form. A shudder ran down his spine and sent his blood thundering through his veins.

“There is something,” she muttered. “Simple really. So simple the task hardly warrants the favor
you
seek in exchange, but . . .”

“Aye?” His ears rang from the pounding of his poor heart. “What is it?”

“I wish you to retrieve something that was taken from me—a silver platter chased with gold. It belongs to me and holds great sentimental value.”

“Where might I find this item?”

“In Avalon, the realm of the
Tuatha Dé Danann.
You cannot get there on your own, for it is betwixt this world and the realm of shadow.” The shimmer and blue light dissipated, and her appearance became that of an old crone once again. “I must send you there and bring you back.”

“If you ken where this thing is, and it’s within your realm, why do you no’ fetch it for yourself? If you can send me to it and bring me back . . .” He frowned. What was he getting himself into?

She pushed her mug away and rose from her place. “It is of no importance to
me
whether or not you go to the future, mortal. My reasons are not your concern. You grow wearisome and impertinent.” She crossed the room to the door and opened it. “Good day to you.”

The air grew cold, and once again the blue light formed a halo around Giselle. Fearing he’d let his chance slip away, he pushed his doubts aside. “I’ll do it. I’ll get your platter for you, if in exchange you’ll provide me with the means to visit the future and return when I will it. Do we have a bargain?”

“Done.” Her birdlike eyes held a sharp-edged glint.

Her satisfied smile sent another tremor of self-doubt through him. He opened his mouth to rescind the offer just as she raised her hand and formed runes of bright blue in the air. In a trice, all that he knew disappeared, and in its place a thick mist swirled and eddied around him. He didn’t move and hardly breathed. Where had she taken him? What if the vapors swirling around him were poisonous? By the Virgin, what had he done? Panic stole his reason, and he waved his arms at the mist in an effort to see beyond the curtain. “Saints preserve me, what sort of hellish place is this?” Giselle’s laughter echoed through the mist, just as her voice filled his head.

“It is a void dimension, a place where, with our magic, we create whatever reality we wish for our own comfort and pleasure. Be still, mortal. You will come to no harm. I am placing you exactly where you will find the object you are to fetch. The mist will clear, and your task will be easier than you ever imagined. Breathe. ’Tis naught but ordinary mist.”

He did as he was told, and gradually the swirling curtain thinned. He found himself in a corridor, very much like those he’d find in keeps throughout Scotia. The familiar sight lessened the fear gripping him, but not by much. He flattened himself against the stone wall.

“No one is about. My kin are all at court, and we’ve no use for guards here. You can cease trying to blend in with the stone against your back.”

Giselle’s condescending tone sparked his indignation. He was not a wee lad to cower with his back to the wall. Stepping away from the stones at his back, he rested his hand on the hilt of his dagger.

“Your weapons are useless in our realm, human. Move forward. You will come to a door on your left. Go into the chamber, and I will direct you to that which I seek.”

He followed her direction, and the door she spoke of loomed before him. He slipped inside to a richly appointed chamber. A thick rug covered the floor beside an opulent bed with the finest velvet curtains. There on the mantelpiece over the hearth, he saw a number of items displayed, including a round silver platter.

“That’s it. There on the mantel.”
Giselle’s voice held an edge of excitement.
“It’s mine, made for me eons ago and given as a wedding gift. Take it quickly. Someone comes.”

Footsteps and voices echoed through the corridor, growing louder by the second. He strode to the mantel and snatched the disk, clutching it to his chest. The tugging sensation took hold, and again he was dragged through the gray mist from the realm of the fae. In an instant, Robley returned to Giselle’s cottage, the pilfered item still clutched to his chest. He set it on the table. “I’ve done my part.”

“So you have.” She turned the platter over and traced her finger reverently over the inlaid gold. “So you have.”

“Now for your part—”

“Impatience?” Giselle straightened and raised an eyebrow. “Very well then.” She crossed the room and took a large wooden box from the floor, carrying it to the table. She set it down and opened the lid. “Now, I’m sure I put them in here,” she muttered while rummaging through the contents. “Ah, here they are.” Her eyes lit up, and she lifted a small leather pouch. “Listen carefully.” Placing the pouch in his hand, she gestured for him to sit.

He pressed the leather between his hands, trying to ascertain its contents.

“This holds two crystals, tokens for your passage to the future and back. Wherever you choose to depart from will be the very point of your return. Hold fast in your mind the time and place you wish to be, and spin one of the crystals like you would a child’s toy.”

“A toy?” His brow rose, and he tugged the pouch open to take a look.

“Not now.” Giselle covered his hands with hers. “Just listen. When you spin the crystal, you’ll see a change in the air above it. Remember—hold fast the time and place you wish to visit, and step into the disturbance. Time travel is not always exact,” she warned. “Less so on the journey to than from. You will always return to the exact spot of your departure, but you must also hold the time you mean to return to in your mind. It’s crucial, or you may end up in an era not your own.”

“I understand.” He stood and opened his sporran, dropping the pouch inside. Much had to be done before he began his grand adventure. He wanted one more conversation with True before he left. He needed more details about the Renaissance fair in New York she’d been attending when Giselle had taken her. The fair would be the perfect destination. His appearance would not be so odd in such a place. Aye, it felt right. “My thanks, Madame Giselle.”

“Do not thank me yet, lad. You’ve no idea whether or not the trip will be to your liking.” She walked toward the door behind him. “Good luck to you. May you find whatever it is you seek on your journey.”

Floating on a cloud of elation, he took his leave and set his course for Castle Inverness. Tomorrow he’d start out for home. He’d return to Loch Moigh with his fate held securely in a leather pouch within his sporran. Bloody hell! He’d just been to the realm of the fae and lived to tell the tale. How many men could say the like? Fetching the silver disk had been simple, just as Giselle had said.

For certes he’d gotten the better end of the bargain. Hadn’t he?

CHAPTER TWO

E
rin swiped at the perspiration wrecking her makeup and checked the ground at the base of the cottonwood. She didn’t want to get anything on her Renaissance gown during her short break. Scanning the area for anthills, she set down her bowl of “the Queen’s Caramel Apples” and settled herself on the grass.

She tugged off her veil and headpiece, tossing them to the ground. Leaning back against the rough bark, Erin closed her eyes against the mother of all headaches. The unseasonably hot day, constant blowing grit and the smell of fried food and stale beer sure didn’t help. She massaged her temples, trying to ease the throbbing. If only she could ease her own pain the same way she did for her patients, but no. Her gifts had never worked like that.

No doubt her headache was stress related, exacerbated by the heat and too many layers of heavy brocade and linen. Maybe if she pounded her head against the tree, she’d knock out the pain. Or not. She let out a long sigh, opened her eyes and stared up at the canopy of leaves.

What was she going to do? Erin was almost at the end of her master’s program, so close to getting her midwife certification, and her roommate chose
now
to move out of their apartment without notice? “Just my luck.”

She couldn’t afford the rent on her own, no matter how much she loved her large, old apartment with its oak floors, trim and built-in buffet. Thinking about the daunting task of finding a cheaper place and moving while school was in full swing sent another throb pounding through her skull. Her plate was already too full. Plus, only one more weekend before the Renaissance festival closed, and this little bit of extra income would come to an end. With classes and clinicals, she hardly had any time to pick up nursing shifts. She could give up sleeping . . .

“Screwed. I’m so screwed.”

She surveyed the back lot of the fairgrounds. The grassy field held all the RVs, trucks and trailers the seasonal workers brought with them for their weekends working the fair. The scent of manure drifted to her resting place, reminding her of the state of her life.
Crap
.

Well, there wasn’t anything she could do about it right this minute. She brought her treat to her lap, dipped an apple slice into the gooey caramel and took a big bite. The tartness coupled with the caramel was so good she swore her mood lifted a few millimeters. Nothing like a bowl filled with something sweet to bring her spirits up. She popped the remaining bit of apple in her mouth and sorted through her options.

Going to her mother for help was out. She and stepdad-number-four were going through another
rough patch
, and no doubt her mother would soon be single and impoverished again herself. She’d be coming to her daughter for help. It was too late to take out a larger student loan for the semester. Did she have anything to pawn? Nope. She’d just have to float some bills and find a new roommate in a big fat hurry.

Dipping another apple slice into the dark-golden sweetness, she caught movement from the corner of her eye and lifted her gaze, squinting a bit. About five yards from where she sat, heat waves shimmered and rose from the dirt like something radiating off a blacktop road, only way more defined and about a yard wide. As she watched, the anomaly grew even stronger. “What the heck?”

She set her snack aside and pushed herself up to investigate. The moment she rose, the undulating waves took on color. Bands of pale pink and green radiated upward. “Huh, a mini aurora borealis right here in the middle of the grass on a bright sunlit day?”

She moved closer, glancing around to see if anyone else had noticed. No one had. All alone and standing an arm’s length away, she fought the urge to reach out and see what would happen if she stuck her hand into the mirage. “Probably not a good idea,” she muttered, mesmerized by the dancing light show.

Something changed. A form appeared behind the shimmer. A man? Erin gasped a second before the impact sent her flying. Flat on her back with the wind knocked out of her, she found herself pinned beneath him. She stared into the bluest eyes she’d ever seen. Her mouth went dry, and her heart pummeled her rib cage. Frightened out of her wits, she blinked a few times, hoping he’d disappear and everything would go back to normal. It didn’t.

Impossible! Men didn’t just fall out of the air. She struggled to regain her breath, and for a moment, he looked as dazed as she felt. “Wha—?” Stunned, all she could do was stare and gasp for breath. “What just happened?” She shoved at his chest. He didn’t budge.

“’Tis fortuitous indeed that you are here. I’ve just come through time.”

He grinned, revealing deadly gorgeous dimples on either side of his sexy mouth, a mouth that was only part of the best-looking, totally masculine face she’d ever seen. Tawny blond hair hung to his shoulders, and slightly darker stubble covered his cheeks, chin and throat. He wore a billowing saffron shirt, and an earth-tone muted plaid kilt draped across his chest and over one shoulder. Supporting his weight on his elbows, he stared down at her, his gaze roaming her face. “What year is it, lass?”

Again with the wicked-dimpled grin, stealing her ability to think straight. “Through time?” She struggled to get out from under him. “That’s impossible.”

“Aye. From the past. What year is it?”

She pushed against his rock-hard chest. His scent, all male, slightly smoky and tinged with an outdoorsy freshness, filled her senses. His heavy weight pressing against her so intimately disturbed her, stirred her up in ways she didn’t want. He could be some kind of a con. She should
not
be reacting to a complete stranger like this, especially a stranger who appeared out of thin air. She
should
be calling for help, not getting turned on. She pushed again. “Get off me!”

“Will you abandon me if I do?”

“Absolutely.”

“You saw, lass. The doorway through time. You saw, aye?” For a second, she glimpsed a flash of anguish play across his face.

She
had
seen. He’d appeared out of the shimmering, waving aurora borealis thing and slammed right into her. “Not possible,” she muttered again, her heart clogging her throat. She tried to force it back where it belonged. “Please get off me.”

He canted his head, peering into her eyes with an intensity that stole her breath. “You were there in the very spot at the very moment I came through. ’Twas meant to be. Our meeting like this canna be simply by chance.”

“Sure it can.” Her heart continued to pound away in her chest, and now spots danced before her eyes. Great. Was she going to faint?
Don’t you dare.
Breathe!
She sucked in a huge breath and glared at him. “Move, or I’m going to start screaming. You don’t want that, do you? Security will haul your butt away so fast you won’t know what hit you.”

He rolled off, sat up and scrubbed his hands over his face. “My apologies. ’Twas you who put yourself in place to break my fall. Traveling through time is no’ an easy task. For certes, I feared I would be torn asunder. I’m no’ yet myself. I need a few moments.” He searched her face again, his eyes lingering on her mouth and coming back to her eyes. “Will you stay and hear my plea?”

His perusal brought a fresh rush of heat to her face. “Your
plea
? Now that you don’t have me pinned to the ground I might,” she huffed. “This ought to be good.” Her headache forgotten, she scooted a short distance away and sat facing him. Once again she scanned the area for someone she could call out to if she needed help. A couple of men dressed in hose and tunics with swords hanging from their waists were walking toward a trailer nearby. She recognized them.

One was a part of her reenactment group, though she didn’t know him well. They’d come running if she shouted. Good, because this whole situation filled her with a mixed bag of anxiety and curiosity. The curiosity proved more powerful. She couldn’t walk away without first hearing what the good-looking guy with the heavy Scottish brogue had to say.

Besides, she
had
been standing exactly where he came through, and maybe meeting him wasn’t accidental. As far-fetched as his claim of time travel seemed, could he be telling the truth? Now that she was past the shock, she focused all of her energy to get a read on him.

She’d always had the ability to pick up on things about people, mostly physical impressions, and her gifts served her well in the health-care industry. She knew what her patients needed without them having to tell her, even the babies still in the womb. Nothing felt “off” about the man beside her. She didn’t sense any darkness within him, only a lively intellect and robust health. He wasn’t attempting to conceal anything from her. That fact came through loud and clear.

The alleged time traveler leaped to his feet and offered her a hand. She ignored the proffered help and rose on her own. “It’s 2010, by the way.”

“Perfect. ’Tis exactly the year True left her time for ours.” He rubbed his hands together. “And am I in New York? Is this the Sterling Renaissance Festival? Is it August?”

“Nope. Not even close. You’re in Shakopee, Minnesota, and it’s almost October.” Something flickered across his face—a shot of confusion followed by a fear chaser?

“Shock-o-pee?” His brow creased. “Minnesota, you say?” His hand came up to swipe at the lower half of his face. “’Tis Lady True’s realm.”

Lady True?
“Not where your ticket was supposed to take you, eh?”

“Ticket?” His mouth turned down.

“OK, you said you came here through time, and if I hadn’t seen what I just saw with my own eyes . . .” She threw her braid back over her shoulder before reaching for her veil and headpiece. She put them back on and wondered how much time she had left before her break ended. “I’ll bite. When are you from?”

“The year of our Lord 1426.”

Shock arced along her nerve endings.
So not possible.
Was it? She took in the draped, not pleated, rustic wool he wore, the leather sporran fastened to his belt next to a sheathed dagger, and the broadsword hanging down his back. He stood about five foot nine or ten, and not an inch of him was wasted. Ripped. The man might not be overly tall, but he certainly was a powerhouse.

Glancing at the soft leather boots he wore, she could almost believe he’d walked out of the fifteenth century in them. Still, it had nothing to do with her, and she had enough to deal with on her own without getting drawn in by this man and any pleas he might make.

“Well, beam me up, hot Scotty” she muttered, pulling her iPhone from her pocket. She checked the time. “My break is over. Enjoy your visit
.
” She snatched up her unfinished treat and started for her next post as lady-in-waiting to this year’s Renaissance queen.

“Wait. My name is Robley of clan MacKintosh, and I need a guide.” He came around in front of her and reached into his sporran, pulling out an impressive wad of good old American cash. “And I’ll need a place to lay my head. I’ll gladly pay whatever you ask in exchange for your help. All I ask is a bit of floor space and aid in navigating my way ’round. I’ll no’ be any trouble.” He placed his free hand over his chest. “I give you my word as a knight of the Scottish realm.”

“If you’re truly from the past, how is it you have a fistful of modern money?”

“’Twas given to me by one who was sent back to my time in much the same way that I’ve come to yours. She has no use for it now.” He kept his hand over his heart, imploring her with an earnest look.

OK, it did stand to reason. If a person could move forward through time, they could also go back. Was he really a knight? Her heart pinballed around in her chest. Could he be the answer to her financial woes, the answer to her prayers? No. Her prayers were never answered. Every inch of ground she’d ever gained had been earned through her own blood, sweat and tears. Too many tears. Still, she couldn’t ignore the serendipitous way they’d collided into each other—or the wad of modern-day bills he flashed in her face.

“How long do you plan to stay?” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Wait. It’s crazy to even consider something like this. You’re a stranger. For all I know, you could be a time-traveling serial killer.” Again she focused on him, and again she detected nothing mental or physical to be concerned about, but that didn’t necessarily mean he wasn’t dangerous.

A flash of desperation passed through his eyes. Desperation she knew on an up close and personal basis, and something inside her softened. How would it feel to travel through centuries, ending up in a place and time where you didn’t know a soul or a thing about how the world worked? What kind of balls did you have to have to do something so utterly insane? Now
that
she could respect.

“A fortnight, mayhap a month. No more.” He leveled a pleading stare her way. “I swear I’d never harm you. We MacKintosh men cherish and revere our women.”

“Yeah?” She snorted. “Well I’m not a MacKintosh woman though, am I?”

“I dinna ken.” His mouth quirked up, as if he sensed he’d won her over. “By what name are you called?”