G rant escorted Jessa through the main floor of the keep into what looked like a massive dining hall filled with rows of trestle tables. Its whitewashed walls were covered in tartans, tapestries, ancient weapons, and an astonishingly large hearth that could probably burn entire tree trunks. She tightened her grip on his arm. Everything looked so real, so chillingly authentic.
It even smelled real. Not that she was an expert on how the eighteenth century should smell, but she felt like she was quickly becoming one. She swallowed hard and tried not to shudder. Admittedly, she was a chronic worrier, an over-planner, and an over-thinker, but she never panicked. Until now. This introduction to time travel and kisses that triggered so much more than simple lust overwhelmed her, and Emily wasn’t here to talk her off the ledge. She gulped another hard swallow to keep from throwing up the coffee Mrs. Robeson had worked so hard to make for her. If she didn’t calm down, control her breathing, and slow her erratically pounding heart, she was going to pass out. That’s what Emily would say if she were here. A sad wave of homesickness made her bite her lip.
“And this is the main kitchen,” Grant said, oblivious to her internal war, as they passed through a stone archway and came to a halt. “The outside kitchen is just beyond that door. There, ye will find the firepits and cauldrons where meat is put by for the winter and roasted for summer meals.”
Bundles of dried herbs, pots, pans, and flat disks of weathered iron hung from massive wooden rafters that crossed the low-ceilinged area. A haze of smoke beyond the tiny windows on the far wall revealed that the outdoor firepits were already in use. Enormous cauldrons and kettles, their surfaces seasoned to a gleaming black, hissed and bubbled from iron bars hung across the large hearth that took up one end of the room. Heat waves shimmered in the air over a large stone box that jutted out from one end of the hearth. Deep-sided skillets rested on the grid of metal bars that topped it. Hunks of meat sizzled and popped in the pans, making the air almost greasy with the aroma of highly seasoned beef and pork frying.
Jessa tried to ignore the stares of the two young girls at the long worktable under the windows on the other side of the room. Even though they attempted to hide behind the piles of vegetables they were peeling and chopping, she felt their curious glances pinging off her like mosquitoes trying to get through a window screen.
An older girl entered the kitchen from a side room. As soon as she noticed them, she jerked to attention, then hurried over to Grant and curtsied low while still hugging a basket overflowing with some type of leafy greens. “Cook’s outside starting the venison, m’laird. Ye want I should fetch her?”
“Nay, Alison. We’ll go outside presently.” He tipped a nod at Jessa. “This is Mistress Jessa. She is our honored guest and is to be treated as such, ye ken?”
“Aye, m’laird.” The girl offered Jessa a hesitant smile and another deep curtsy.
Jessa nodded and returned the maid’s smile as she’d done with everyone else she’d met, hoping that was the correct response. So far, Grant had only advised her against hiking her skirts above her knees, and that had led to those kisses that had shattered all her preconceived notions about the ridiculousness of fated mates being fictional rather than real. She pulled in a deep breath, forcing herself to concentrate on the present moment rather than the memory of those kisses.
Grant turned them toward a stone arch to the left of the one that had led them into the kitchen. “The well house is this way. Ye wished to see it, aye?”
“Yes.” Maybe if she kept her mind occupied with devising an easier way to get water from Point A to Point B in this place, it would help her maintain a firm grasp on reality. The first thing she noticed as she stepped down the three stone steps to the dirt floor of the windowless room was the temperature change. Not only was it a great deal cooler than the kitchen, an earthy dampness hung in the air. Iron-caged sconces lined the walls, their sputtering candles making shadows dance throughout the cavelike space. The well was at the center of the room, its stone block walls approximately three feet high. A heavy wooden rack with a handle to turn the beam straddled it. Two heavy ropes attached to the beam descended into the well’s unfathomable darkness.
Jessa rested her hands on the ledge of the well, leaned over, and peered down into it. That turned out to be futile. Without a better source of light, all she saw after a foot or two was total darkness. She squinted up at the low ceiling and discovered it was stone. “So the well house isn’t part of the original structure?”
“No.” Grant eyed her with an unreadable expression. “The well has always been here, but it was not connected to the kitchen until several years ago. This fortification was built around it at that time to keep our water source safe from attack. How did ye know that?”
She pointed upward. “The stone ceiling. The kitchen and the main meeting hall both had wood ceilings with beams running across them for support.” She slowly turned in a circle, eyeing the room’s every angle. “That makes things more complicated, since the pulley system can’t come directly from the well. It would have to be built in another area so that it could be brought up through the wooden floors.”
She envisioned what she had in mind, placing herself in the position of the poor servant charged with hauling water up those steps. She’d always been able to see things and then create them. Usually, they worked, and whenever they didn’t, she kept at it until they did. It was fun. Kind of like solving a puzzle. “You could install a waterproof tank or barrel of some sort on each floor. Fix it in a closet or somewhere out of the way. Then a series of buckets attached to a pulley system could draw the water up to them without it having to be carried up those steps.”
“And ye’d not heat it until it got to where it was going? Seems like that would take longer due to the size of the hearths.”
She groaned. No water heaters, and she didn’t have a clue how to build one. She’d studied a lot of things in college and also via the University of the Internet, but building an efficient water heater was not one of the things she’d taught herself to keep that creepy building superintendent out of her apartment whenever something broke. “Does the kitchen heat the water now?”
“The laundress.”
“Is the place where they boil the water part of the original structure?”
“Nay. Outside in the lean-to. The fires for the boiling cauldrons keep that bit of cover warm enough in the winter to dry the clothes and keep the laundress and the lasses who help her warm.”
She blew out a frustrated huff. This was more complicated than she’d thought it would be. “So, they haul the water from the well to the laundress’s pots, and she stokes the fires under them until the water boils?”
“Aye. The lads are charged with filling the cauldrons, however often Griselda wishes.”
“Can I see the lean-to?” If there were windows from each floor above it, maybe they could work some sort of pulley system up from the laundress’s area. Although whenever the weather was cold, the hot water would cool a great deal faster going up a pulley system attached to the outer wall than being carried up the inside stairs.
Grant made an odd grumbling sound, as if not really wanting to, but he offered his arm again. “Ye can, but I must warn ye, Griselda gets along with no one.”
“She has a hard job,” Jessa said, envisioning the poor woman toiling over boiling cauldrons. “Passing heavy, wet clothes from a top load washer into the dryer always made me grouchy because I’m so short.” She threw up a hand and turned away from him. “Don’t say it. I know you don’t know what a top load washer and dryer are.” She ignored the offer of his arm and led the way back up the kitchen steps, a heavy sigh escaping her. “I know I’m going to have to start self-editing before I open my mouth, or someone’s going to burn me at the stake. It’s just going to take me some time to adjust.”
A powerful hand closed around her arm and pulled her to a stop. A great rumbling sound filled the small space, a rumbling that could pass for the low, irritated growl of a caged lion. He spun her to face him. “No one will ever harm ye. Not whilst I live and breathe. Know that, woman, and know it well. I protect my own.”
The flash of lightning and something much more in those silvery gray eyes of his made her forget to breathe. She couldn’t look away. Couldn’t argue. All she could do was wet her lips and hope he would kiss her again. When she realized she had reached up and touched his strong jawline, she blinked several times and pulled her hand away, curling it to her chest. This was utter madness. She needed to maintain control at all costs. After all, as soon as she straightened Mairwen out, she’d be returning to her time. “Uhm…on to the laundress?”
He blinked as though dragging himself from a daze. “What say ye?” he asked gruffly, yet in the softest voice.
“You were going to take me to the laundress’s lean-to?”
He barely jerked his head, clearly battling his own inner demons. “Aye. To the laundress. So ye can spoil the servants.”
She hesitated to loop her arm through his, but the broodiness of his glare convinced her to just go with it. This century was exhausting. “It is not spoiling them. It’s making their task more efficient. If they’re not having to haul water, they can do something else. And it will also decrease the risk of injury.”
“Injury?”
“Has anyone ever slipped while carrying water up those steps?”
“Aye, we had a poor maid break her arm once.”
“There you go.” Jessa allowed herself a victorious little skip that made her skirts bounce. “A pulley system would lessen the risk of another such accident.” She sashayed outside with a smile.
“Be gone with ye afore I clout ye again!” a woman shouted in the distance. “Be gone I say. Leave her be! She be mine, and ye know it.”
“What the devil?” Grant took off like a shot.
Not about to be left behind, Jessa gathered up her skirts and ran after him. She skidded to a halt in front of a three-sided shed tucked into the corner between the keep and the tall outer wall that enclosed the courtyard. Steam, or maybe smoke, roiled out its front and curled out around the boards of the lean-to’s sides.
An angry man, grubby with something that smelled a great deal worse than plain dirt, stood in front of the place, with his hand raised to strike an old woman who was threatening him with a wooden paddle that was the size of an oar for a large boat.
“That be my bitch and pups, Griselda! Everything is mine, and ye know it. If I wish to kill the useless mongrels, ’tis my right!”
“Dubhglas,” Grant said with a ground-shaking roar. “Ye best lower yer hand or?—”
Enraged that anyone would not only strike a helpless old woman but threaten to hurt an animal, Jessa scuttled around Grant, grabbed another oar propped beside a boiling cauldron, and took her place beside Griselda. “I’ll smack you right between the eyes if you take another step toward her,” she told the man. “Nobody hurts women or animals on my watch.”
“Him’s always been a cruel, hard man,” Griselda said. “I seen him kick my poor wee dog with me own eyes when I tried to feed her more because of her pups. My lasses fetched her for me and brought her and the pups here so’s I could protect them.”
Jessa resettled her grip on the oar, choking up on it like it was a baseball bat. “Get the hell out of here and never come back,” she told the man while stepping between him and his wife. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Grant had stepped back, folded his arms across his chest, and was smiling. Was he serious? An irritated hiss escaped her. She’d deal with him later. When Dubhglas just stood there glaring at her, she took another step toward him, brandishing the wooden paddle. “Did you hear me? I said leave!”
“That be my wife.” He pointed at Griselda. “I can do whatever I wish with her and anything else what lives in me house.”
Jessa glanced back at the old laundress who had lowered her wooden oar and leaned wearily against it. “Is he out of here or not? It’s your choice.”
Using the paddle like a cane, Griselda hitched her way closer and peered at Jessa. “Be ye the Goddess Bride come to us in the flesh?” she whispered, her bloodshot eyes filling with tears.
“No. I’m Jessa. But I’ll not stand idly by and let anyone be mistreated.” She pointed her oar at Grant. “These are your people? Do you back me up on this?”
Grant gave a formal nod. “I do, m’lady. It appears we have discovered a situation I was not aware of and will not tolerate any more than ye will. No one mistreats women, children, or animals in my clan. Name the man’s sentence and it shall be done.”
Dubhglas growled and charged forward, sputtering, “That be my wife. I own her.”
“Bullshit!” Jessa swung as hard as she could, landing a blow to his chin that backed him up a step. “You don’t own people.” She glared at Grant. “Make him behave while I talk to Griselda and see if the dog and her puppies are all right.”
Grant nodded. “He’ll not move again. Will ye, Dubhglas?” His tone left no question about what he would do if the man failed to agree.
Dubhglas dropped to one knee and bowed his head. “Nay, m’laird. I shall stay here till ye bid me do otherwise.”
Jessa gently took hold of Griselda’s arm and led her inside the lean-to so they could talk in private. This situation reminded her of how her biological mother had never been able to find the strength to send her abusers packing, no matter how bad it got. Even as young as Jessa had been when social services rescued her, she could still remember her mother always saying, Any man is better than no man at all, because she needed their money for drugs and alcohol.
“Now is your chance to be rid of him,” she told the laundress, “ but you have to decide what you want.”
“The pup and her wee ones are over there.” Griselda pointed at the corner, as if Jessa hadn’t spoken.
Jessa eased forward and found the small brown dog huddling on a pile of rags, baring its teeth and growling to protect the three tiny puppies behind her. “I know you’ve been treated badly,” she said softly to the poor furry mother. “It’s going to be all right now, though. I’ll never let anyone hurt you ever again.”
The dog stopped growling, lifted its head, and perked its ragged ears as if it understood every word.
“Can I pet you?” Jessa crouched and held out her hand, still easing forward and ready to stop if the poor thing was too upset. An ugly gash on its head and an odd lump in the middle of its visible ribs made her blood boil. Not only had the animal been beaten, but it had also been starved. Who knew how long it would take for the mama dog to trust her? Jessa sat on the ground. She had all the time in the world. Maybe it was time to see what these servants were willing to do for someone they thought was the mistress of the house. After all, that’s what they kept calling her. “She needs food,” she told the washerwoman. “Tell Grant I said so.”
“Tell the laird ye said so?” Griselda repeated, her scraggly white brows arching to her hairline.
“Yes. And tell him I said to get rid of Dubhglas. Your husband is not welcome here anymore.”
“Ye mean to kill him, then? Make me a widow?”
Jessa refused to let this play out the way her mother’s scenarios always had. She was no longer a helpless eight-year-old whom no one listened to. “I want him gone. Whether that means he leaves and never returns, or he’s beaten to death like he beat this dog, is up to you. Either way, I will not tolerate his presence at this keep any longer. You don’t need him, Griselda. Will you stay here and enjoy your freedom from his hell, or will you join him? From what I know about Grant, at least so far, what I know about him, you’ll be safe here and not go hungry.”
The old woman shook her head. “Nay, the laird would never let me go hungry. He is a good and fine man.”
“Then why didn’t you go to him about Dubhglas?”
Griselda stared at the ground and rocked back and forth in place. “I dinna ken, m’lady. I was ashamed, I suppose.”
“You have nothing to be ashamed of, Griselda. Dubhglas is responsible for his behavior. Not you.” Jessa gave the woman the most reassuring smile she possessed. “And I’m proud of you for fighting for this mama dog and her babies. Now go ask Grant to send for some food, and then tell him what you want done with Dubhglas—choosing one of my options, of course. Those are the only choices I will allow.”
The gray-haired matron managed a deep curtsy. “Thank ye, m’lady—my honored goddess.”
“I am not a goddess,” Jessa called after her, then shrugged when the laundress ignored her and continued on her way toward the men. She turned back to the leery canine. “We’re going to get you some food, and then we’ll see about making you a more comfortable bed.”
Its big brown eyes shone with yearning; then she gave a pitiful whine and barely twitched her tail.
“I’m going to scoot a little closer,” Jessa said softly as she moved. She held out her hand with her knuckles up so the dog could sniff them. “I’ll protect you as long as I’m here, and maybe, when I go back, you and your babies could come with me. Em’s family loves dogs.” A subtle ache took root in her chest. Her feelings were so twisted. She missed Emily and her family with a vengeance, but everyone here had been so nice to her, and then there was Grant. She swallowed hard at the thought of never seeing him again, which was freaking ridiculous since she’d only just met the man. Her eyes burned with the need to cry as the dog licked her knuckles. “I’m so confused. But I’ll take care of you and the puppies. I promise.”
The dog scrambled back and growled, looking at something behind her.
“What are ye confused about, lass?” Grant’s deep voice washed across her, making her shiver.
“You scared her.” Without looking at him, she waved him away. “Don’t come any closer. That bastard hurt her, so now she’s afraid of men.”
“Like yerself?”
“I am not afraid of men.” And she wasn’t. She just wasn’t all that sure about time travel or fated mates. After all, both defied logic. “So, did you drop that asshole off a cliff or send him packing?”
Grant rumbled with a low chuckle as he crouched beside her. “Which did you prefer?”
“A slow, painful death by beating, actually. Isn’t that what he planned for his poor dog?” Jessa held out her hand to the canine again. “Grant won’t hurt you. He’s a good guy.”
The sweet dog settled down again in the rags but kept her frightened focus locked on Grant.
“Lachie is escorting Dubhglas off MacAlester lands and convincing him never to return. Griselda is fetching food for yer wee friend here and informing Cook that the beastie is to be given the choicest scraps and treated with the care befitting an animal under the protection of the goddess.”
Jessa rolled her eyes but concentrated on inching closer to soothe the dog rather than turning to glare at Grant. “I am not a goddess.”
The canine whined again and lowered her head, finally allowing Jessa to rub her ears.
“You’re such a sweet girl,” she crooned. “Everything’s going to be all right. I promise.” Her heart warmed, and a strange sense of calm flowed through her as she petted the precious animal that was too large for a lap dog but too small to defend itself or others. She already loved the mistreated cur. How could she not after seeing a flicker of trust and hope in the creature’s beautiful brown eyes? “I love you too, Brownie.”
“Blessed be,” Grant whispered, his voice filled with awe. “Look, lass. The cut on her wee head, the broken rib, her wounds are going away. She is healing.”
Brownie wiggled closer, wagging her tail and snuggling her way into Jessa’s lap. Her three puppies, small as large potatoes and their eyes still closed, grunted and squeaked with irate little puppy yips at the loss of their mother’s warmth.
“How could she heal like that?” Jessa hugged the dog, smiling and laughing as the canine transformed from a terrified, abused animal into a healthy, happy dog. When Grant didn’t answer, she turned to find him staring at her with a look she couldn’t quite decipher. “Does that mean Mairwen is close? You called her a witch. Did she heal her?”
“Mairwen is not here, lass,” he said with a quietness that made her shiver. “No one is here except yerself and me.”
“Maybe you’re the witch, then.” Jessa leaned over and patted the dog’s nest of rags. “Come on, girl. Back over here by your babies. They’re looking for you.” Without risking a glance at Grant and being forced to consider what he suggested, she tossed her words back to him, “Could we find her some nicer bedding? Griselda’s done the best she could under the circumstances, but Brownie and the puppies need something softer.”
“Aye,” he said, still sounding distracted, “I’ll have Jasper fetch some hay and fix her a bed here in the corner rather than the stable. She’ll be well out of the weather and close to the kitchens, so we can make sure she’s properly fed. I’ll charge him with seeing that she gets her supper each evening and breakfast every morning, as well. Will that do?”
“And snacks too. She’s a nursing mama. She needs extra food.” Jessa risked turning to meet his gaze. “Thank you. She needs to know she’s safe now—and loved.”
“How did ye heal her, lass?” He eyed her, something akin to fear and so much more flickering in his eyes. “Can ye heal me?” He leaned forward and angled his right cheek toward her, the one with the angry-looking cut.
“I can’t magically heal anyone.” She fisted her hands, trying to forget what she’d felt moments ago just as the dog took a rapid turn for the better.
“Try,” he prompted in a rasping whisper, making that single word echo through her entire being.
“I don’t know what to do,” she said just as quietly while gingerly reaching for him and resting her fingertips on his face.
“Ye told the dog ye loved her while ye rubbed her ears.”
She jerked her hand away and tucked it back against her chest. “I didn’t heal her. Something else must have happened. If this place is some kind of time travel bus stop, then maybe other impossible to believe things happen here too.”
“What are ye afraid of, lass? Why are ye scairt to even try?” He trapped her in his gaze, pulling her in like a powerful tide that threatened to drown her.
She glared at him. “I told her I loved her because she needed me, and I saw unconditional love in her eyes. I have yet to see that in any man’s eyes.”
His eyes flexed, narrowing as if she had slapped him. He nodded. “I understand.”
She doubted that he did. “Have you ever loved anyone unconditionally?”
“I could ask ye the same.” His jaw flexed, then hardened, revealing she’d hit a nerve.
“If you did, I would tell you that the only people I have ever loved unconditionally are Emily and her family. They have always loved me, even on my worst days. I owe them the same. And animals, I always love animals unconditionally.”
“So ye’ve never loved a man unconditionally?”
“No. I’ve never felt that close to any man.”
“What about that man ye said ye wished ye had—” He frowned, suddenly befuddled. “Ye said ye wished to be rid of him first, but I dinna remember what ye called it.”
“Dumped?”
“Aye, dumped.”
“Trust me. I never loved Jeremy unconditionally. I would label the feelings I had for him as hoping for the best because I was too tired to keep looking for someone to love me.”
“I have her food, my goddess,” Griselda said as she hurried into the shelter, moving with a spryness she hadn’t shown before. “Do ye wish to feed her, or shall I?”
Relief filled Jessa. Thank goodness for the interruption. She pushed up from the ground and dusted off the backside of her skirts as she moved to one side. “You feed her. That way, she’ll know you fought to save her.”
The laundress curtsied, then bowed her head. “Thank ye, my goddess. Thank ye for the life of my wee pup and for freeing me.”
“I am not your?—”
Grant cut her off by stepping forward and pulling her arm through his. “I am thankful to her as well, Griselda, for opening my eyes to something I should have seen long ago. Forgive me.”
The washerwoman curtsied again. “All is well now, m’laird. Thanks to the goddess and yerself.”
“I am not?—”
“Come, m’lady. Let us leave Griselda to her wee beasties.” Grant nearly propelled her out of the laundry lean-to and across the cobblestoned area surrounded by the amazingly high stone wall.
“She needs to know I am not a goddess.” Jessa tried to turn back, but he stopped her. “I am just an average, chunky redhead.”
He turned her to face him. “There is nothing average about ye, lass, and while yer hair is indeed red, I disagree that ye are chunky .” He shook his head. “I dinna like that word.” He tucked a finger under her chin and lifted her face to his. “Ye are damn near perfect by my reckoning. As perfect as anyone I have ever known. And I have known many in my day.”
She wished he wouldn’t look at her that way. It made her all melty inside, and if her heart beat any faster…She swallowed hard. Was this nothing more than lust, or was the legend about fated mates fact rather than fiction?
“What are we going to do, Grant?” she finally whispered.
Still cupping her chin, he slowly grazed the heel of his thumb back and forth across her bottom lip, then arched one of his dark brows. “I fear we are doomed, lass.”
“Doomed?” she repeated in a squeaky whisper that made her cringe. “Doomed for what?”
“Doomed to love one another with a fearsomeness we have never known before.” A heavy sigh left him before he added, “Eventually.”