“D o ye need more tea for yer head, mistress? Or a tonic, perhaps?” Mrs. Robeson hovered around Jessa like a wee bird that couldn’t decide where to light.
“No, thank you.” Jessa didn’t look up from the book she was slowly paging through.
Grant smiled to himself, risking a glance at her from where he stood at the window, watching for Henry and that infernal witch. He had warned the lass about the motherly housekeeper. She would do well to learn that he was only trying to help when he offered advice.
“But ye ate nothing,” Mrs. Robeson said while fussing with her apron, smoothing it back in place, then wringing it around her hands all over again. “Was none of it to yer liking? Cook was shocked at the untouched plates the lads carried back to the kitchen. She’s frettin’ something fierce. Afraid she’s displeased ye.”
“I am sure everything was wonderful,” Jessa said, still not looking Mrs. Robeson’s way. “I would love another pot of coffee if she has time.” Jessa closed the book and shoved it back on the shelf between the others. “Other than that, I’m fine. If I get hungry later and there’s nothing to be had, then it will be no one’s fault but my own.”
The housekeeper drew herself up and hissed like an angry cat. “If the mistress of this house be hungry at any time, day or night, there will always be something to be had, I’ll grant ye that.”
“I am not the mistress of this house,” Jessa said quietly, but her tone rang with determination and the tiniest bit of hopelessness.
Grant allowed himself a heavy sigh. Damn that Mairwen for dropping them both into this unnecessary tempest. “Mrs. Robeson, leave the lass be. When she’s hungry, I’m sure she will tell ye.”
“But—”
“Mrs. Robeson.”
The kindly old woman bowed her head, but her displeasure showed in the hardened set of her jaw. “Aye, my laird and my lady.” She flounced out of the solar and thumped the door shut behind her.
“So, does that mean I don’t get my second pot of coffee?”
“Soon as she calms down, she’ll remember yer request and send it up.”
Jessa nodded, then meandered around the room. She seemed even more unsettled than when she’d first arrived. But he supposed that made sense. After all, she now knew more about this strange situation in which she found herself.
“So what do you do?” she asked after her third lap around the room, where she’d lightly run her fingers across every book, bauble, and piece of furniture.
“Do?”
“As a laird. If I weren’t here. What would you be doing?”
“Sleeping.” It came out before he could catch it, but at least it was the truth.
“Sorry.”
“My lack of rest is not entirely yer fault. A necessary venture night before last kept me from my bed, and then last night, I was concerned about ye.”
“I’m fine,” she spat out so fast that it painted the words as the lie that they were. “Or I will be. Once I figure everything out.” She went to the window and scowled outside. “I don’t think it rained this much in the future.”
“Today’s rain is?—”
“Tomorrow’s whisky,” she finished, then snorted an unhappy laugh. “I know. Lilias at the pub in Seven Cairns taught me that the day I was caught without my brolly. ”
“ Brolly ?” he repeated slowly.
“Scottish slang for umbrella. Or maybe British slang for it? I don’t know. All I know is that I’d never heard the word before until I came to Scotland.” She propped her shoulder against the window’s inset alcove of stone. “So if you’d caught up on your sleep last night, what would you do today? As a laird?”
His usual leeriness reared its head, the leeriness of a successful smuggler. “Survey the grounds. Ensure all is secure and well. Provide for those in need and settle any grievances among my people.
She cut a sideways glance his way. “You don’t trust me.”
“Why would ye say such a thing?” He almost smiled at her craftiness but held it back. This sly lady was indeed a delightful challenge.
“Because that answer was vague. You made some noise but told me absolutely nothing.”
“Each day is a new challenge,” he said. “My duties are rarely the same.”
“Then you should consider yourself a lucky man. At least you’ll never be bored.” She returned her attention to the view out the window. “When do you think Mairwen will grace us with her presence?”
“That I canna say because the old witch does as she damn well pleases.” He tapped on the pane, pointing toward the west. “See that rise? The one wearing the haar like a shawl around its shoulders?”
“You mean the one almost hidden by fog?”
“Aye, that be the one. Seven Cairns lies within that mist that always rolls in off the sea. We call it the haar. Henry’s gone there to fetch her.”
She squinted at the spot and drew closer to the rain spattered glass. “How far is that from here? It looks like a long way.”
“A few hours’ ride because of the treacherous nature of the land between here and there.” He’d told her that before, but after all she’d been through, he didn’t blame her for not remembering. “But the length of that journey only limits Henry.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Mairwen does not ride. Or at least I have never seen her ride. And yet she travels from here to there in the blink of an eye. She is not constrained by time or distance.”
Jessa turned and studied him, so very close that it would only take a little effort to sample the sweetness of her mouth. Her warmth teased him, daring him to move in closer and breathe her in to fully intoxicate himself with her scent of roses and a woman who didn’t realize how desirable she was. The tip of her tongue raced across her barely parted lips, tempting him to show her.
He almost groaned but caught it in time. With more control than he realized he possessed, he eased back a step, increasing the distance between them. “We could find Mairwen at our door at any minute—or never. I fear we are at her mercy.”
“Well, that is complete horse shit.” Jessa bowed her head and growled, making him struggle not to smile. “You know, I hardly ever swear, but this century brings out the worst in me.”
“Ye are merely a lady expressing herself according to what the situation demands.” Grant prided himself on his diplomacy.
She snorted. “Yeah. Right.” She fidgeted away from the window and paced around the room again. Her agitation filled the air, while her spirit silently wailed its need for relief from these circumstances.
“Would ye like to go up to the tower? From there, ye can see a good bit of MacAlester land.” Shielding her by keeping her in his private solar was not going well. While he wished to protect her, this was no timid lass satisfied to hide away until the world decided to be kind to her. Nay, she was a caged beast, gnashing its teeth to be freed. “I can take ye around the keep so ye can roam wherever ye like.” His smuggler’s sense of survival nudged him, reminding him that might not be wise. “Within reason,” he added.
She eyed the door to the hallway, then looked back at him while nervously chewing the corner of her bottom lip. He waited for her to decide. Only she knew what served her best. Mayhap she preferred Molly take her around and show her the things the lady of the keep might wish to see. A rumble of irritation escaped him. Gads alive, now he was calling her the mistress of the house. What the devil was wrong with him?
“Don’t growl at me. I’m thinking, all right? Wouldn’t you be a little nervous if you landed in my century, and I offered to walk you around like the prize pooch at the dog show?”
“The noise I made was not directed at ye.” He almost did it again. “I believe I have been patient, considering the circumstances.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Indignance flashed in her eyes, honing her glare.
“What?”
“ Considering the circumstances, ” she repeated. “I did not come here of my own free will. I was dumped in your bed. Remember?”
He lifted his hands in surrender, something he had never done before and wasn’t all that keen on doing now. “I meant no disrespect or impatience with ye, aye? And I nay asked Mairwen to snatch ye up out of yer time and send ye here to be my wife. The feckin’ witch took it upon herself to do so after I told her plainly I never wished to marry again.”
Jessa's scowl darkened even more, and the parting of her sumptuous lips slowly opened wider as her jaw dropped. “Again? You’ve been married before?” She took a step toward him, her hands slowly closing into fists. “Or are you married now, and if so, where is she?”
Feckin’ hell. He resettled his stance and clasped his hands to the small of his back as if preparing to be executed, and execution didn’t seem like all that bad of a choice at the moment. “I am widowed.”
She didn’t believe him. He could see it in her eyes.
“My late wife grew to like laudanum more than anything else. She consumed it until it finally consumed her.”
“Is that why you asked if I was looking for laudanum when I wanted something for a headache?” Her eyes narrowed with watchfulness.
“Aye. If I thought ye bound to the opium, I would have put ye out immediately.”
“At midnight. In the rain. Out here in the middle of nowhere.”
He jutted his chin higher. This woman had no idea what that poison made people do. “Aye. Better to put ye out and let the Highlands deal with ye rather than bring that danger back into my clan once again.”
She shut her mouth, flattening her supple lips into a cold, hard line. Then she surprised him with a curt nod. “I can’t say as I blame you. I know firsthand what drug addicts are capable of. By the time I was eight years old, I had experienced it all in its horrible glory. Thankfully, social services rescued me, and the legal system cut the tie to my mother once and for all.”
Taken from her mother at a young age and fostered by a family who did little to care for her. That explained her independence and pride. It also bespoke an amazing strength. She considered herself a survivor, not a victim. She was so much more than a bonnie wee lass that pleased the eye.
He offered her a formal bow. “I admire ye, my lady. Not everyone could rise from those ashes and become the glorious phoenix ye are today.”
“Thank you,” she said, sounding almost confused by the compliment, confused and perhaps even a little hopeful.
“Why do ye look at me that way, lass?”
She barely shook her head. “I don’t know. Just trying to figure you out, I guess. You tell me Mairwen sent me here to be your wife, but you make it quite clear you don’t want one. And yet?—.”
“And yet?”
Her jaw flexed the slightest bit as if she wanted to say more but thought better of it. Then she looked away and moved to stand beside the door. “It’s not important. You mentioned a tour of the keep?”
Both mesmerized and perplexed by this complicated yet glorious woman, he held the door open and offered his arm. “M’lady.”
She eyed his extended arm, then lifted her gaze to his. “Are you mocking me, or are you serious?”
“Mocking ye?”
“In my time, a man only offered a woman his arm in a formal setting. Like walking the red carpet or as part of a wedding party. Is it common practice in this century for me to hang onto you for something as simple as walking around your keep?”
What the devil had happened in the future to the way a man treated a woman? “’Tis a show of respect, lass. Of my protection of ye. With ye on my left arm, my sword arm is free to defend ye. All who see us will know that I will give no quarter to anyone who dares insult or harm ye in any way.”
“Oh.” She slid her arm through his and offered him a smile that actually reached her eyes. Thank the fates, she appeared to be pleased. “That’s kind of nice.”
“Aye, lass. It is at that.” He led her to the stairwell. “Which way shall it be first? Up to the watch house or down to the great room and out into the bailey if the rain’s lifted for a while?”
She leaned into the stairwell and looked up, then looked down at the stone steps. “What floor are we on?”
“This be the third level.”
“Those are some seriously wicked spiral steps. And narrow too. Like a corkscrew. How in the world did those boys carry buckets of water up three flights of that with no problems?” She turned and stared at him in amazement. “That’s inhumane to have them do that.”
“It’s the only way, lass, if ye wish to bathe in something other than a basin.” Her concern for the servants warmed his heart. This was no spoiled lady who thought only of herself.
Her expression darkened with the storminess of a mother about to scold a thoughtless child. “There has to be an easier way for them to carry water to all the floors. Devise a pulley system or something.” She shook her head and shot another critical look up and down the stairs. “Until we figure out a solution, maybe Mrs. Robeson can curtain off a corner of the kitchen or something, and I’ll just bathe down there.”
“Like hell ye will. I’ll not have ye washing yer bare arse in the kitchen among the servants, and that issue is not up for debate.” He pointed at the stairs. “Now, which way shall it be? Up to the watch house or down to the bailey?”
She glared at him. “Take me to wherever they fill their buckets. I want to see the starting point so I can think of a better way to get the job done. Work smart. Not hard. Right?”
“They do as they’re told. That’s a smart enough servant.” He nodded at the stairs. “I shall go first to keep ye steady until ye become more accustomed to the footing. The well house is off the kitchens.”
“See? Even you think they’re unsafe.”
The victorious crow in her tone made him clench his teeth. Where the feckin’ hell was Henry with that witch? Before his control slipped, and he said something he shouldn’t, he entered the stairwell, descended a few steps, then turned back and held out his hand for her to take.
“You really should have handrails installed.” She took his hand while wrangling the fullness of her skirts. “I can’t see where I’m stepping with all this yardage. How am I supposed to stay away from the narrow edge?”
He’d traveled these stairs so many times that he’d never really thought about how difficult it might be for a woman. “Keep to the left. They’re wider on the outside rather than the center, where they lock into the column. Feel for them. We’ll take it slow.”
“I don’t like this,” she grumbled under her breath with every downward motion. After progressing no more than a few steps down, she halted and pulled her hand out of his. “Wait a minute.”
He leaned against the curve of the center column and waited. What did the lovely wee fox hope to do now? The tower stairs were what they were. They couldn’t be helped. And then he nearly lost his own footing, as she bent, gathered the length of her outer skirt, petticoats, and shift up above her knees, and hugged them into the crook of her arm. When she reached for him with her free hand, he stared at her, unable to speak.
“Now I can see where I’m stepping.” She did a little hop, tapping both feet as if the sight of her shapely legs encased in stockings didn’t already hold him prisoner. With unbelievable innocence, she smiled and swayed from side to side, proud of her handiwork. When he didn’t take her hand, her smile slowly faded. “I still need to hold your hand, though, since there’s no railing.”
“Lass.” He didn’t know what else to say. All sense had left him.
“What?” She looked down at her feet and tapped her toes again. “It’s safer this way.”
“Aye, but?—”
“No one will see but you. We’re the only ones here.”
“And ye dinna care if I see yer legs?”
“All you’re seeing are my plump little calves and my knees dressed up in stockings. It’s no worse than if I had on my leggings.”
His mouth had gone so dry that he struggled to speak. “Women dinna wear leggings.” He finally managed to dip a nod at her comely knees. “Nor do they show themselves in such a way to just any man. Only their husbands see them in this state of undress.”
Her shoulders sagged in disappointment as she lumbered down another step toward him. “Thank you for the eighteenth century survival tip. This is why I really hoped you were lying about time travel. I’ll never fit in here, and your people will probably try to burn me at the stake for witchcraft or something. Do they do that in this century?”
“I would never let them do that to ye,” he said, unable to pull his focus from her legs. What he wouldn’t give to run his hands along them, higher and higher still, until?—
“Lovely. Now I’ve got yet another thing to worry about,” she said in a sharp, grumbling tone, yanking him from his fantasy. “Can I at least hold up my skirts this one time since we’re alone? I’m really nervous about these stairs.”
“Nay, lass.” He refused to give over on this. “Shake yer skirts back down where they belong. We could meet a maid or one of the lads carrying wood at any moment. I dinna wish them to think ill of ye.”
“Fine.” She dumped them from the crook of her arm and stomped them down in place. “If I break my neck, my death is on you.”
“Well, I canna have that.” He scooped her up into his arms and cradled her to his chest like a wee babe. “I’ll have ye downstairs in no time. Whole and unscathed.”
She squeaked, making him wonder what other delicious noises she might make if he pleased her into the notion. She tightened an arm around his neck as he plodded down the narrow, winding steps. Tensing against him, she thumped him on the chest. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Carrying ye.” He struggled to concentrate on his footing rather than her warm softness against his chest.
“Why?” she asked, growling the word through clenched teeth.
“I dinna wish ye to break yer lovely wee neck.”
“I’m going to break your lovely wee neck.”
He laughed, moving slower because his cock had stiffened to a merciless hardness. Lore a’mighty, what he wouldn’t give to take her right here on the stairs. He hitched her higher against his chest, making her squeak again with the wee toss. “Why would ye wish to break my neck when I’ve been nothing but the most thoughtful of hosts?”
“How much farther?” she asked with another lovely wee growl that thrilled him.
“Nearly there, lass,” he answered, slowing even more.
“You’re stretching this out on purpose.” Accusation flashed like lightning in her eyes. “You think this is funny.”
“Actually, I do find this quite enjoyable.” He halted just before rounding the final curve. As soon as he descended the last few steps, he would have to set her on her feet, and he was nay yet ready to deny himself the feel of her in his arms. Whether it was his weariness, the irresistibility of this fine woman, or another of Mairwen’s spells, he sensed his control was slipping and didn’t give a damn if it did. He leaned to one side, propped against the wall, and tipped his mouth closer to hers. “Do ye not find this enjoyable, Jessa?” he asked soft and low.
She scowled at him as if trying to destroy him with the ferocity of her glare.
He nuzzled closer and touched his forehead to hers. “Have ye no answer for me, my lovely wee fox?”
“I do not want to find this enjoyable.”
“And why is that?” He barely brushed his lips across hers, killing himself with the teasing. Lore, he needed to taste her soon or die in the trying.
“Because you’re—complicated,” she whispered, then fisted her hand in his hair and pulled him in, kissing him hard and deep, devouring him heart and soul. A fiery shudder tore through him like an uncontrollable inferno. He tightened his hold on her and sank to the steps to keep from dropping her. She broke the connection, squirming as she turned her face away. “Let me go. Now.”
He released her and helped her stand. “Jessa?—”
Chest heaving, she pressed the back of her hand to her mouth while pointing at him with the other. “Do not say it. I can only handle a certain amount of weirdness at a time, and I have reached critical mass.”
“Jessa—”
“No.” She shook a finger at him, forbidding him to say another word. “Shut it. Right now.”
Shut it? No woman told him to shut it. “I will damn well speak whenever I wish.” He rose to his feet, gathered her back into his arms, and kissed her again, showing her exactly what he thought about her ordering him to shut it. Aye, this intimate connection was the same. The searing burn, the raging sense that every tiny piece of his soul was falling into its proper place and settling into a perfect wholeness.
She clung to him, kissing him back as if starved for the taste of him, then she jerked and pushed away again. “Set me down. Now.”
“Lore a’mighty, woman, are ye trying to kill me? How can I let ye go when ye make me feel so?—”
“Stop it. Please.” Her words didn’t get through to him, but the fear in her eyes did.
He immediately steadied her safely back onto her feet and backed up until several steps separated them. “No matter how badly I need ye, never would I ever force myself upon ye, Jessa. Never.”
She fisted a hand to her heart. “I never thought you would. I was just afraid. That kiss. It was unlike anything I’ve ever felt before.” She shook her head, or maybe she shuddered. He couldn’t tell. “That was not a…” She blew out a shaky breath and pressed a hand to her forehead. “That wasn’t normal.” She turned and plopped down on the step, sitting with her elbows propped on her knees and her head in her hands. “That was strange,” she whispered, then shivered again.
Her words concerned him. “Ye found it unpleasant?” The way she had responded—surely, she had felt the same passionate wave that had coursed through him. “Are ye saying it was intolerable?”
She gave him a disbelieving look. “That is not what I meant. I found it entirely too tolerable for a first kiss with someone I’ve just met, whom I’m not entirely sure about.” She wrinkled her nose. “Of course, I don’t usually make it a habit of kissing people I’m not sure about, but you don’t exactly fit into any of the neat little boxes I pigeon-hole people into when I meet them. You’re shockingly different. In more ways than I am presently able to describe.” Twisting to look at him, she caught her bottom lip between her teeth and hugged herself. “Was it—really different—for you too?”
“Aye, lass.” He sat on the steps, keeping a bit of distance between them for both their sakes. “Fiery. Raging. Yet peaceful and complete. As if I’d finally found that which I’d been missing all along.” He knew what he was describing, but couldn’t bring himself to call it what it was. Breath held, he waited to see what she would say.
“Two halves finally snapping together to create the whole they were always meant to be.” She hugged herself tighter, as if suddenly cold. “Fated mates,” she whispered, then huffed and gave him a sour look. “But you don’t believe in that, do you?”
“I said I dinna ken what to believe. Not that I did not believe. There is a difference, lass.”
“I don’t know what to believe, either. About any of this.”
As she dropped her head back into her hands, he ached to console her, to hold her again, but he was afraid. The intensity of everything she stirred within him shook him to the marrow of his bones. What she’d said about his people harming her because she was different came back to him with a vengeance, tempting him to lock her away and protect her like the priceless treasure she was. He slowly shook his head. Nay, he could never do that. She was indeed the glorious phoenix and the flame-haired fox combined—a sly wee beastie, risen from the ashes, in need of her freedom.
“Jessa?” He pushed himself to his feet and descended the steps until he stood one step behind her. When she didn’t answer, he bent, trailed his fingers down her arm, and scooped her hand into his. “Come, lass. Between the two of us, we’ll sort this out. Above all else, know that ye are not alone here. I will always be at yer side.”
She didn’t lift her gaze to his, but she squeezed his hand and rose to her feet. After a long moment that made him wonder what was going on in her lovely head, she turned and looked up at him. “If it was my destiny to go through this craziness, I’m glad you’re the one helping me survive it.”
The insatiable urge to pick her up and carry her to his bed raged through him, but he fought it. Struggling for control, he kissed her hand. “Not only will ye survive, my lovely one, ye will thrive. I shall see to it.”