The Highlander's Bargain (3 page)

“Erin. Erin Durie, and I really do have to get back to work.” She lengthened her stride, dropping her unfinished treat into a trash bin as they passed.

“Ha! Just as I thought. We were fated to meet. Though you’re from a mere Lowland clan, while
I’m
a Highlander, you’re still a Scot.”

“
Mere
Lowland clan?” She snorted. “Hardly. I’m an American girl through and through.” She glanced at him and shook her head, her mind filled mostly with the temporary solution to her current pressing financial problems. “I can’t believe I’m going to do this.” His face lit up, and her breath caught. “Don’t get your hopes up, buddy. All I’m going to suggest is that you spend the rest of the day with me, and we’ll see how I feel by the end of my shift.”

“Fair enough.” He bowed. “I am at your service, my lady.”

She couldn’t help smiling at his courtly gesture. “If everything goes OK, I’ll agree to be your guide. We can figure out the fee later.” At least their arrangement would buy her some time to find a new roommate. She’d put something up on a few of the bulletin boards at school right away. Of course, she didn’t mention she had a furnished spare room where he could stay. Bringing this total stranger into her home was a very bad idea. Best find him a motel nearby.

“We have a bargain.” He put the money back in his sporran. “There’s more currency where this came from. Lady True gave me her debit card.”

Who was this Lady True he kept mentioning? A girlfriend? She hoped not. What? No. She’d sworn to remain forever unattached, focusing instead on her career. Still, she was human, and he was hot. She bit her lip, and her stomach flipped.
Keep your hands to yourself, Durie.
No messing around with the sexy Scot. She stifled the regret before it took hold.

Casual sex had never worked for her. She felt too much, sensed too much, and it always led to heartache. Besides, hadn’t she learned anything growing up her mother’s daughter? Good old Mom went through loser men like most people went through paper towels. Her mom and dad had split by the time Erin turned three, and she had long ago been sadly disabused of the whole notion of “happily ever after.” She could be a guide for a month without allowing herself to
become emotionally or physically involved. Robley of clan MacKintosh would be a means to an end, nothing more.

They came to the main drag of the fairgrounds, with all its false-fronted shops, food vendors and hordes of fairgoers. She glanced at Robley. His eyes widened as he took in the sight of all the performances that were underway: jugglers, musicians and dancers. A magician’s show on the stage across the square drew his attention. A collective “ooh” went up from the crowd as the performer stuck a sword through the coffin-sized box holding his lovely assistant.

All of the food booths had long lines, and people walked around with grilled turkey legs and ears of roasted corn. Flush-faced parents pushed fussy children in strollers. Little girls waving beribboned wands and wearing cone-shaped satin hats darted here and there, while little boys with wooden swords and shields gave chase. With so many people teeming around, it was impossible to walk a straight line.

She kept them moving, wending their way through the milling crowd. The parade of nobles would begin any minute, and she had to hurry to the starting point. Robley blocked a man from running into her and hovered protectively near her side as they walked, touching a soft spot in her heart.
Don’t even think like that!
“So, who is this Lady True you keep mentioning? Is she your girlfriend or something?”
Gah! None of your business, Durie.

“Nay. Lady True is—”

“Forget it for now. Stick close.” They’d reached the assembled reenactors, and it was not a conversation she wanted others to hear.

Anne, this year’s elected queen, glared at her. “You’re late.”

Once again she couldn’t believe she’d been aced out of the role of queen by her nemesis. Dammit. She wanted to be queen. Just once she’d hoped things would go her way, but no. She’d worked her way up from alewife to nobility through the Society for the Preservation of Medieval and Renaissance History. Plus, she’d been a member longer than Anne. The only difference between them was that, unlike Anne, Erin wasn’t sleeping her way through all the unattached voting males. “Sorry. I ran into a friend.” She gestured toward Robley. “Robley’s joining us today.”

Anne’s brow rose. She did a once-over, starting at his broad shoulders, traveling down to his leather boots and all the way back up to his handsome face. She placed her hand in their king’s hand, smiling at Robley all the while. “Well, hello there, and welcome to my court.”

“
Your
court?” Erin snorted and rolled her eyes. “Don’t forget this is just make-believe.”

“Besides that, I’m right next to you.” Michael, the man Anne had been dating for the past three months, grumbled, straightening his crown.

“Whatever.” Anne shrugged as the trumpets heralded the beginning of their march.

Erin took up her place behind the queen, motioning for her time traveler to join them. He came to stand beside her, crooked his elbow and looped her arm through his, setting her hand on his forearm. His well-defined muscles shifted beneath her palm, and her stomach did a somersault or three.

He leaned close. “What are we doing, lass?”

“We’re about to parade through the fairgrounds. It’s all part of the show, part of what people here pay to see.”

“Humph. The villagers must pay to enter your fair?” His brow creased.

“Villagers?” She laughed. “I’ll explain later. Just try to look noble.”

“I am the nephew of the earl of Fife and a knight.” He straightened, lifting his strong chin a notch. “I’ve no need to
appear
so. Nobility runs through my veins.”

“Which adds up to a whole lot of
who cares
here,” she whispered. His scowl made her laugh. “You really have no idea, do you?”

“None whatsoever.” He winked at her. “’Tis why I need you to guide me.”

Again her breath hitched. She turned away, hiding the way he affected her. Best to immerse herself in her role as they passed through the spectators. Oh boy, was this guy tempting. Thank goodness he’d only be around for a month at the most. She could handle a month, especially as busy as she was. Somehow, she’d have to carve out some time to show him the sights, expose him to the marvels of her century. It would be fun to see how he reacted.

When had she decided she believed he really was from the past? Ah, well. She had no reason to doubt him, and she had witnessed his arrival. She had always been curious and open to the possibilities, and having the abilities she had, she’d suspected there was way more to this world than met the eye. Now she had proof.

“You have a lovely smile, my lady.” Robley placed his hand over hers and gave it a brief squeeze. “I swear, your beauty alone is reason enough for my journey to your time.”

Gah!
Her insides fluttered, and her knees wobbled a bit. That had never happened before. Never. Her cheeks heated. “It’s really hot out, don’t you think? That wool you’re wearing must be unbearable.” She stared out at the crowd and pursed her lips. The low rumble of his chuckle went right through her, setting off a slew of physical sensations she’d be better off ignoring.

“You are unaccustomed to receiving compliments, I think. ’Tis hardly credible. Are the men of your time so dense? Do they no’ fall at your feet?”

“Jeez, lay it on a little thicker, why don’t you?”

This time he laughed out loud, drawing Anne’s attention—drawing the attention of every female within range. She’d known Robley all of thirty minutes. How could she possibly be jealous? Yet she was. Erin inched closer to his side and glared at the women whose appreciative looks lingered a bit too long on his very fine form.

Stop it!
She searched the crowd for something to distract her, all the while trying to keep her knees from buckling. “We’re going to have to stop at Target after the fair. You can’t walk around dressed like that while you’re here.”

Yep. Robley of clan MacKintosh was dangerous, all right, and she’d have to gather up all her defenses if this arrangement was going to work.

CHAPTER THREE

R
obley covered Erin’s hand where it rested on his forearm, anchoring himself to the enchanting lass into whom he’d fallen. They hadn’t met by chance, he was certain. As they made their slow promenade through the throng of twenty-first-century villagers, he took it all in. So many booths with wares to sell: works of art, crockery, windows forming pictures out of bits of colored glass, jewelry, clothing of all sorts, scented oils and soaps, toys and leather goods. And the smells! Delicious and overwhelming all at once.

Never in his life had he seen so many people gathered in one place—not even in London or Paris! He reveled at the sights, sounds and smells, and tremors of excitement shook him to the core. He’d made it. This was the future, and he could hardly wait to explore.

Still, doubt niggled at him. How had he come to Lady True’s realm in Minnesota? He’d intended to arrive at the same fair in New York where she’d been working when Giselle sent her back to their century. So that he’d have a place to stay, True had given him directions and the key to the apartment where she lived while attending Juilliard. He’d followed Giselle’s instructions perfectly, fixing New York and the month of August in his mind. Surely the faerie had interfered and manipulated him into something not yet clear.

Trepidation and uncertainty tightened around his chest like chain mail a size too small. Was he merely a puppet, or did his arrival in Minnesota have more to do with time travel being far from exact? Giselle had warned him. Had he held Minnesota, True’s homeland, in the recesses of his mind while entering the disturbance?

He glanced at Erin, wondering how she fit in with all of this. His heart leaped at the sight of her. By the Virgin, he’d never before encountered such a breathtaking beauty, and he’d fallen right into her arms. Recalling her shocked expression as they lay entwined like lovers brought a smile to his face—and sent heat coursing through him. It had to mean something. Was she his destiny? Had Giselle sent him to her?
Erin’s eyes, the greenest he’d ever seen and flecked with a rich brown, had held him spellbound from the first moment he’d beheld them. For certes, ’tis why he’d forgotten his manners altogether and kept her trapped beneath him. That and the feel of her feminine softness cushioning him. How could he not linger once he’d glimpsed her luscious lips and that wealth of thick, honey-colored hair she wore bound in a long braid? Lord, he longed to undo that braid and run his fingers through her silken tresses. He was but a man after all, with a man’s lusty appetites.

Studying her out of the corner of his eye, he prayed fervently that she was indeed meant for him. She glanced at him and smiled, and his heart tumbled over itself. Was this what Malcolm had gone on about? Was this the thrill his cousin felt whenever he laid eyes on his lady wife?

“We’re almost to the end of the parade,” she whispered. “Then I’m supposed to roam through the fairgrounds and make myself available to talk with our guests. I’m done for the day in a couple of hours.”

“Aye?” Transfixed, all he wanted to do was gaze upon her like a besotted fool. They’d come to a set of gates bordered by a tower to one side and cottages with windows facing the crowd on the other.

Roughly clad villeins lined the catwalk. One of them grinned lewdly and pointed. “Oy, what have we here, lads?”

A corpulent man with filthy hands and face leaned over the railing and called to them, “Ah, such lovely flowers! I might have to pluck one for meself.”

“I’ve dibs on the queen. You may have her lady-in-waiting,” another coarsely dressed lout shouted. “Such sweet fruit. She’s ripe for plucking, aye?” He waggled his bushy eyebrows, staring insolently Erin’s way.

Robley tensed and put himself before his lady, shielding her from their vile speech and impertinent gestures. “How dare you speak thus to your betters,” he called out. “You will cease your harassment at once or suffer the consequences.”

Widening his stance, he glared at the miscreants. His warning only egged them on, making them bolder still, and they continued to make rude gestures and hurl unsavory comments their way. “Stand back, my lady.” He reached for his claymore, and all eyes turned to him. Erin stopped him from drawing his sword.

“It’s all part of the show, Robley,” she whispered as she leaned close. “Relax.”

“Show? I dinna ken what you mean, lass.” He kept his eyes fixed on the catwalk, lest the ruffians attempt anything more severe than words.

“It’s all make-believe, a pageant. Including those guys. I know them. We belong to the same club.” She tugged on his arm. “Come on. The parade is over. Let’s go. I’ll show you around and explain how things work.”

He sent one more scowl toward the louts and let his lady lead him away. Confused and disoriented, he had difficulty grasping what had just transpired, especially once the clapping ensued. “Force of habit prevails,” he muttered. “’Tis ingrained in me to protect those who cannot defend themselves. A gently bred lady should no’ be subjected to the insults and rudeness of such rabble.”

“You think I can’t defend myself?” She laughed. “Oh, Robley, you have a lot to learn about the twenty-first century.”

“Without a doubt.” He glanced back at the catwalk, still angry that their party had been subjected to such an outrage.

“Come on. I’ll take you to the jousting arena. That should be a kick.”

“A kick?” He frowned. “I swear, your speech is passing strange. Even more so than Lady True’s used to be.”

“Ha! It’s the other way around, sir knight. You’re the foreigner here. It’s your speech that is
passing strange
.”

“Ah, I take your meaning.” He nodded. “’Tis true. I dinna exactly fit in, do I?”

“Not even a little bit,” she said, grinning at him. “Tell me about this Lady True you keep mentioning.” Erin looped her arm through his again, steering him in the direction she wished him to go.

Warmth spread through his chest, and once again he covered her wee hand with his, marveling at the feel of her soft skin next to his callused palm. “Alethia Goodsky was sent to us from your time. We call her True for many reasons, one being she is a truth-sayer. She has the ability to discern whether or no’ a person speaks truly, and occasionally she has visions of the future. Her gifts have saved our clan more than once. The faerie who sent her to us—”

“Whoa. Hold up.” She stopped walking and gaped at him wide-eyed. “Faerie?”

“Och, aye, one of the ancient ones, the
Tuatha Dé Danann.
” He nudged her into motion again. “Madame Giselle poses as a fortune-teller at fairs like this one.” He nodded to the surrounding area. “She stole Alethia from your time and sent her to ours so that she might save the life of a young orphaned lad who needed her special kind of help. He has the blood of the fae running through his veins, as does she. ’Tis why she has
the gift
. True is wed to my cousin Malcolm now. They have a daughter and another bairn on the way. Plus, they’ve adopted Hunter, the lad whose life she saved. The lad is also gifted.”

A stunned expression suffused Erin’s lovely features, and she brought her hand up to press against her mouth.

“What is it, lass? What troubles you?”

She shook her head and averted her gaze. “Nothing. It’s just . . . well, it’s all kind of difficult to believe.”

“I speak naught but the truth.” He suspected there was more to her reaction than that, but he let it go. “We found Lady True all alone and fast asleep by the side of the road. I believe my cousin fell in love with her that very moment.” He smiled. “Believe you me, she led him on a merry chase. Malcolm did his best to keep her safe and by his side, but she wouldn’t have it. ’Twas quite entertaining.”

“For you.” She bumped her shoulder against his. “Probably not so much for him.”

“To be sure.” He chuckled. “Malcolm’s beleaguered heart nearly faltered more than once. Our True has a propensity for placing herself in harm’s way, but only to protect those she loves.” They’d come to a circle of fairgoers oohing and aahing as they watched something going on in the center. The familiar metallic ring of sword upon sword came to him. “Another show?”

“Yep. Sword fighting. It’s very popular.”

“I would see this exhibition, if you dinna mind stopping.”

“By all means.”

The crowd let them through easily enough once they saw how they were garbed. Robley watched the two knights. The rush he always got at the possibility of engaging in swordplay raced through his veins. Their form was sloppy and their technique poor by his standards.

“You call this swordplay?” he shouted. The two knights glanced his way. He thrust out his chest in challenge. “I call it child’s play.” The two stopped their mock battle, the glint in their eyes unmistakable.

“Think you to challenge
us
, both blooded knights?” the one wearing a black tunic under his chain mail shouted back, strutting toward him. His crest was embroidered in gold thread upon his breast.

“Aye, and both at once.” Robley drew his claymore, striding forward to meet him. “You two fight like squires, no’ blooded knights,” he threw out. “Unless by blooded you mean easily defeated. I’ve no’ yet spent time in the lists this day. ’Twill provide me with a bit of sport, nothing more.” He flexed his shoulders, rotated his neck and sent his sword turning in a series of arcs to warm up. “Do ye accept the challenge, lads?”

His opponents watched his movements, their expressions eager. He took up a battle-ready stance. “Come then. I vow to disarm you both.”

They both lunged for him at once, their swords swinging wildly. Robley blocked one blow, then the other. He planted his foot in the center of the black knight’s chest and sent him flying, pivoting to engage the single opponent coming at him. Bringing the edge of his claymore against the other man’s blade, he circled it, waited for his opponent’s wrist to assume just the right position, pivoted and applied pressure. The knight’s sword flew from his hand. The spectators applauded and cheered. The lad bowed slightly, retrieved his weapon and backed away.

Robley turned to face the more skilled, larger knight. “Have at me,
squire.
”

The knight in black laughed. “Squire is it? I shall reduce you to mincemeat
before the hour is done.” He circled him in a boastful stride, looking Robley over with a scornful smirk.

“Come then. Dinna waste my time.” Robley stood his ground, looking bored. Letting loose a battle cry, the man came at him. Robley blocked his blows and worked him back with several well-placed strikes. Gleefully, he settled in for some much-needed physical exertion. “I am called Robley,” he said in an even tone, making a point of showing that his breathing hadn’t yet deepened. “By what name are you known,
squire
?” Steel on steel rang out, and the crowd widened the circle to accommodate them.

“My name is Mark. Mark Pilon.”

“Ah, a Norman. I’ve fought side by side with Normans against the
Sassenach
many a time. We are allies.”

“True enough.” Mark began a series of offensive moves, taking Robley by surprise for an instant, before he retaliated with his own tried-and-true tactics. Shutting out everything else, he set himself to his task, to the battle of wits and brawn. His muscles were warm and loosened, and he drew a long, slow breath, savoring the activity.

Swordplay, hand-to-hand combat, jousting and hunting had always been his favorite pursuits. He thrived on action and exertion. The sense of accomplishment following a good bout never failed to bring him contentment. Aye, physical activities, including a tumble or two with one of the village widows, were all that had kept him sane this past year.

Mark dripped with sweat and breathed heavily, grunting with each blow he parried and with each strike of his sword.

“More time in the lists will build your stamina, lad,” Robley taunted. Mark’s glance darted toward Erin. Robley scowled. Did she glance back? He couldn’t risk finding out. Time to end this, though he was nowhere near expending his strength. Making short work of it, he divested his opponent of his weapon and bowed to the calls of “huzzah” from the spectators as they began to wander off.

Mark sheathed his sword and bent over, placing his hands on his knees for several moments to catch his breath. He straightened and approached. “Man, you have some moves. Where’d you learn to fight like that?”

“My da placed a wooden sword in my hands when I was but three or four winters, and I’ve been training ever since.” He clasped his defeated opponent’s proffered forearm briefly. “I fostered under the earl of Seakirk and earned my spurs by the time I turned ten and six.”

Mark swiped a sleeve across his brow and turned to Erin, embarrassment at having been soundly thrashed, and longing for her, plain to see.

Jealousy, swift and hot, churned through Robley, until he too looked at the lady. Her eyes met his and fairly glowed with appreciation. Lucky for Mark, or he’d have been forced to continue their mock battle, just to pummel the man into the ground. “I’m from the—”

“He’s from Scotland.” She came to his side and slipped her arm through his. “Robley is staying for a month. He’s on vacation.”