I t had taken forever for Jessa to cry herself to sleep. Now, even though she finally slumbered, Grant watched her, unable to look away and only blinking when his eyes burned with the need to do so. She huddled in a pitiful ball up in one corner of his bed, with the covers pulled so high that nothing but the top of her head showed. The wildness of her curls peeped out, splaying over the pillows like a fiery sunset. The faint shifting of the bedclothes with her relaxed breathing eased his mind somewhat, but his heart and soul still troubled him. He could think of nothing that would console her. Mairwen had ripped this poor woman from the world she knew and dropped her into his. All for the sake of the Highland Veil, with no thought to those affected by such an outrageous act.
He shifted in the chair, trying to move silently to avoid disturbing her. The night candle on the mantle sputtered, and the fire in the hearth occasionally popped and hissed. Other than that, the room was painfully silent, filled with the ominous weight of all that had gone wrong and all that could still go awry. He had not felt such a gnawing leeriness and uncertainty in a long while.
Mrs. Robeson’s tea had likely helped the poor lass finally lose the battle against sleep. That made him feel even more guilty, especially since she had accused him of drugging her. She hated him, and damned if she didn’t draw him in like a fresh bloom tempted a bee.
He pulled in a deep breath and eased it out in a heavy sigh. Lore a’mighty, she was even more stunning than in his dreams. He almost allowed himself a smile but stopped it before it twitched across his mouth. Nay, there was nothing to be pleased about when it came to this feckin’ curfuffle.
The image of her eyes flashing with fire came to him unbidden, stirring him more than it should. Heaven help his sorry arse, but he had always loved a hot-tempered lass. More often than not, their tendency to fly into a rage hinted at the levels of passion they could attain. Sly old Mairwen had found him a woman she knew he could never resist. And now, thanks to the old witch, not only did that woman despise him, but thought him a liar or a babbling fool who had lost all reason. All of which could have been avoided if Mairwen had just told the lass what was what and given her the right to choose.
The pale gray haziness outside the window told him the sky was already growing lighter with the rising sun on the longest day of the year. He rubbed his tired, gritty eyes, remembering he had meant to catch up on his sleep since the night before had been spent seeing to a shipment. Ah, well, it was no matter. He could rest when he was dead.
He pushed himself to his feet and stretched, then rolled the sore stiffness from his shoulders. That chair had barely offered enough comfort for a wee nod, much less a few hours’ sleep. Jessa never stirred, and from the continued slow, even rhythm of her breathing, he doubted if she was awake and trying to appear as though she still slept. The wily minx had attempted that once. He would not put it past her to try it again.
With the greatest of care, he set the chair aside and eased out into the hallway, quietly closing the bedroom door with a soft click. When he turned, he nearly stepped on Sawny, who sat on the floor beside the door.
“What the devil are ye doing there?” he asked the boy in a loud whisper.
The lad yawned and clumsily stumbled to his feet. “Mrs. Robeson put me here. Said if ye needed something, ye would need it with haste, and there’d be no call for ye to have to ring the bell and wait for someone to answer if’n I was right here.”
Grant knew that wasn’t the only reason the nosy old housekeeper had planted one of her most trusted informants in the hallway. “’Tis a sorry thing to spy on yer laird. A crime worthy of banishment from the clan.”
The youngling’s eyes went round as basins. “Oh no, m’laird. I would never spy on ye. She told me to stay here in case ye needed something fetched. I swear it.”
“Then fetch Henry. I have a task I want done before the sun rises much higher. Send him here and tell Mrs. Robeson I’ll be breaking my fast in my solar with my guest.”
“Aye, m’laird.” The lad took off as if old Scratch himself chased after him.
Grant propped against the wall beside the door and closed his eyes. He’d not go back inside the room until he’d had a word with Henry out in the hallway. While he might not yet know his lovely wee fox all that well, he had a fair idea that she wouldn’t appreciate waking to yet another strange man in the room with her.
After a while, the heavy thud of boots coming from the direction of the stairwell prompted him to open his eyes and meet Henry partway down the hall. The man had a booming voice and couldn’t be quiet if his life depended on it.
“Aye?” Henry asked, looking as if he had just tumbled from his bed.
Grant nodded. “Fetch the witch. Fast as ye can get her here.”
The man’s ruddy brows shot up to his hairline. “Ye dinna fetch Mairwen. She comes and goes as she pleases.”
“As a Defender, she will answer yer call. Ye made the mistake of telling me that once, remember?”
Henry winced, his regret at doing so clear. “Aye. But the call is not to be abused, or there’ll be hell to pay.”
“Hell can add it to my account. Fetch the witch.”
His friend shuffled in place, raking his hands through his hair until it stood on end even more. “Grant?—”
“She dumped a woman from the future into my bed last night, and that lass does not wish to be here. Fetch Mairwen. Now.”
Henry’s mouth sagged open. “From the future?” he whispered while sidling to one side to squint down the hallway at the bedroom door. “How far into the future?”
“2025.”
“God’s teeth.”
“Exactly.”
“Does she ken what year this is?”
Grant fisted his hands, fighting to keep his voice low. “Aye, she does, but doubts it. Haul yer arse to Seven Cairns, and get the old witch back here to make this right.”
Henry nodded and backed away a few steps before spinning about and setting off at a faster stride.
Dragging a weary hand across his eyes, Grant returned to the bedroom door and eased back inside, holding his breath until his vision adjusted to the dimly lit room. Jessa hadn’t moved. He released the breath he’d held. Of course, with him guarding the door and them being on the third floor, there was little chance of her escaping, but he wouldn’t put it past the wily lass to use the bedclothes as ropes to climb out the window.
He stirred the fire, added a log to battle the dampness in the air, then sagged down into the nearest chair. It might be June, but the rain and the early morning hour lent a chill to the place. He didn’t mind, but the lass would surely find it uncomfortable. The soft rustling of the bedclothes warned him she might be waking.
“Well, shit,” came loud and clear from the bed. A dismal groan followed.
He scooted the chair, angling it away from the hearth, and faced it toward her. “Good morn to ye.”
She pulled the covers over her head and ignored him.
“Mrs. Robeson will be up soon with a fine breakfast. I assumed ye would wish to eat in the privacy of my solar until we found ye some proper clothing, and ye felt a wee bit more settled.”
“I am not hungry,” came her muffled reply from under the blankets.
“If there is one thing ye should know about Mrs. Robeson, it’s that she ensures everyone is fed, whether or not they wish to be. She’ll not tolerate ye starving yerself to death to escape yer sentence of becoming my wife.” His heart bolted to his innards and stirred them into a churning mass even though he’d just said it in jest. He rolled his shoulders and shook away the unnerving feeling. Nay, he did not want a wife—not even one as bonnie as the woman in his bed. “She’ll probably bring along either Molly or Hester to tend to ye and yer needs.”
“The only thing I need is to go home,” she said while still under the covers, then mumbled something else he couldn’t make out.
“What say ye, lass? Lore a’mighty, uncover yer head. It’s not as though I dinna ken where ye are.”
She flopped back the covers and glared at him. “I said I want to go home, want my coffee, and I really need to use the toilet. But I don’t suppose you understand any of that, either.”
He narrowed his eyes at her. “This is yer home now. I can have Mrs. Robeson send Sawny to the storage house for some of the coffee beans scheduled to shift to Edinburgh next week, and either Molly or Hester can help ye with yer toilette once they find ye some clothes.”
She bared her clenched teeth at him. “Not toilette, as in washing and dressing me. Toilet as in I need to pee.”
“Ah.” He rose from the chair and pointed at the cabinet on the other side of the bed. “Ye’ll find the chamberpot just in there.”
She stared at him in disbelief. “Chamberpot?”
“Aye.” He’d instinctively known she’d hate that, even though he had no idea what she was accustomed to in her time. “I’ll step into the hallway to grant ye some privacy.”
She dropped her head into her hands. “Lovely. Just freaking lovely.”
He took that as her agreement to what he’d suggested, stepped out into the hall, and leaned back against the closed door. Bowing his head, he silently vowed to unleash the priest on the old witch at his earliest opportunity. Although, to be honest, it wouldn’t be a fair battle. The priest would never stand a chance against Mairwen.
“Oh no, m’lord,” Hester said as she and Molly rounded the corner. “Be yer lady unwell?” Both maids carried armloads of clothing and linens, and baskets of soaps and oils swung from the crooks of their elbows. Behind them followed Sawny, struggling to carry the large copper tub by himself.
“Ye’re nay supposed to call him lord ,” Sawny said in an overly loud whisper. “He hates that.”
“It’s laird ,” Molly hurried to tell Hester, the newest maid to join MacAlester Keep.
Grant ignored the schooling of the new maid. She’d learn their ways soon enough, or she’d be sent back to whence she came. “Sawny—set the tub down, hie to the shipment headed for Edinburgh, and fetch back a bag of the coffee beans. Give them to Mrs. Robeson and ask her to prepare some coffee for Miss Jessa.”
“Miss Jessa,” Sawny repeated with a smile. “What a fine name for the laird’s wife.”
“She is not my wife. On wi’ ye now and if ye dawdle, I’ll have yer hide, ye ken?”
“Aye, m’laird.” The lad turned and ran, then paused at the corner of the hallway and said, “I’ll have the kitchen lads bring up the water for the lady’s bath soon as it boils. Griselda’s done ordered the fires stoked good and hot.”
“Tell them to be quick about it,” Molly said before Grant could respond. “The mistress needs a nice, long soak. Mrs. Robeson said so.”
“And that’s another thing,” Grant said as he turned back to the maids. “The lady has been through a fearsome ordeal. She might speak of strange things or ask questions that dinna make sense to either of ye. Answer her truthfully and to the best of yer abilities, then keep her confidence and protect her, or I’ll banish ye from this keep so fast yer head will spin off yer necks. Is that understood?” He would not have Jessa an object of ridicule. There would be enough gossip as it was, but there was no need for it to be made any worse.
Both young women gave him hurried nods and whispered, “Aye, m’laird.”
Satisfied that he had instilled a healthy sense of fearful respect into the two of them, he gently rapped on the door, then barely cracked it open. “May I come in, lass? Have ye…have ye done what ye needed to do?”
“I’m done.”
The hopeless dejection in her voice weighed heavily on his heart. With any luck, the bath might help her feel at least a little better. Women seemed to enjoy that sort of thing a great deal more than men. He ushered the maids inside, then hoisted the tub onto his shoulder, carried it in, and placed it in front of the hearth.
Jessa was back in the bed, sitting against the headboard, hugging her knees with her shift tucked around her feet. Her tumble of curls created a fiery curtain she occasionally peeped through. Saints help him and make him strong, but she entranced him—dangerously so. This woman was the Goddess Bride incarnate.
“She is so lovely,” Hester whispered entirely too loudly, but Grant couldn’t argue. Jessa Tamson was the bonniest lass his weary old soul had ever seen.
He shook himself free of her spell and pointed out the maids. “This here is Molly, and this is Hester. Mrs. Robeson sent them to help ye bathe and dress as soon as the water’s brought up. I sent Sawny for the coffee beans. Soon ye’ll have a fine cup of that vile stuff to enjoy with yer breakfast.”
Her eyes shimmered with emotions, but at least the sheen of tears was gone. Smudges of weariness beneath them somehow made her even more winsome.
“Thank you,” she said quietly, then chewed on the corner of her lip, eyeing him as if debating whether or not to say what was on her mind. Nothing had stopped her earlier. What had changed?
“What is it, lass?”
Before she could answer, a knock rattled the door. “Got some water here, Molly,” one of the kitchen lads called from the hallway.
“Let them in,” Grant told the maid when she looked to him for permission.
Molly deposited her armload of goods onto the bench at the foot of the bed, hurried to the door, and waved them inside. “Did ye bring a full kettle for the fire so’s I can keep the mistress’s water good and warm for her?”
“Jasper’s got two,” Rob, the first lad entering the room, said. Before dumping his buckets of water into the tub, he paused and bowed in Jessa's direction and then at Grant. “Mornin’ to ye, mistress. My laird.”
Grant nodded at the lad, then studied Jessa, who seemed bewildered by the servant’s manners. Moving to stand beside the bed, he leaned toward her to speak for her ears alone, dismayed when she shied away. “Lass?” How could she think he would ever harm her?
“Sorry.” She backed up tighter against the headboard and rubbed her forehead. “Everything is still so messed up.”
“Do ye need more tea for yer head?”
“No. It doesn’t hurt anymore. I’m just—confused.”
He could only imagine the depths of her confusion. Mayhap her coffee would help. Those he knew who liked that black swill sometimes claimed it settled their minds. “Hester—see about hurrying the mistress’s coffee along, aye?”
“Aye, m’laird.” The maid dipped a curtsy and rushed out.
Two more scullery lads showed up, bowed their good mornings , and dumped their buckets into the large copper tub that Molly had lined with linen. The maid turned, twisting a cloth between her hands. “Yer bath is ready, mistress.”
Jessa's reddish blonde brows barely twitched higher, and she angled a wary glare his way. She didn’t speak, but then, she didn’t need to. Her expression spoke volumes.
“I shall retire to my solar to await ye,” Grant said with a proper bow. “’Tis naught but across the hall. Molly will bring ye over when ye’ve finished here.”
She didn’t comment, merely hugged her knees tighter and narrowed her eyes as if drowning in her troubled thoughts.
“Well, then,” he said. “I leave ye to it.” After a curt nod, he strode out the door, methodically sorting through everything he had ever heard Henry and Lachie say about the Defenders and Mairwen. The witch had overstepped her bounds this time, and he fully intended to not only regain control of his own life but put Jessa's to rights as well. He’d not deny there was something about the woman that made him ache to know her better, but he’d be damned if he forced a lass who hated him to remain at his side.