Page 7

Chapter Six

A va led Olivia upstairs to what she called the sewing room, where several maids were hand stitching clothes. On the walls were long wide shelves with stacks of men’s and women’s garments, as well as cloth slippers, caps, veils and aprons. The scent of sunshine-dried linen and dried herbs permeated the space.

“Fair morning, ladies,” the laird’s wife said to the maids, and after telling them not to get up went over to a shelf and retrieved a soft gray gown. “I think this one is about your size. I tried it on last week and popped a few seams.”

“’Twas but one, my lady,” a girl at the table assured her. “I repaired it when Elspeth brought it back.”

“Thank you kindly for fixing my mess.” Ava grinned at her, and then glanced down at herself and sighed. “I should steal some gowns from Doon—she’s the only gal at Dun Talamh who’s bigger than me.”

“You have a great figure,” Olivia assured her. “I also know how to sew and tailor clothes. If I can borrow some supplies I can alter the gown to fit myself.”

Ava took her through to the next room, and introduced her to Forbia, the clan’s head seamstress. After explaining what she needed, the older woman handed her a box filled with thread-wound wooden bobbins, slim wooden cases with pins and needles, and a large pair of quite modern-looking shears.

“Healer made the snips,” Forbia told her. “Mind the edges, lass, for they’re as sharp as fighting blades.”

“I will, thank you.” Olivia noticed a beautiful pile of dark red fabric on a table. “What a gorgeous color. Is this meant for Lady Ava?”

“I surely hope not. Wearing red makes me look like the hostess of a late-night horror show.” She glanced at the seamstress. “Do you have any plans for this linen, Forbia?”

“No, my lady,” the older woman said. “Our lassies dinnae wear such red garments, as ’tis considered dressing above their station. We but use the cloth to test the strength of our madder root before we add the dye to the indigo vat to make violet.”

“Now that’s more my kind of color,” Ava told her. “ Any time you want to get rid of some purple, pour it on my clothes.”

“I’ve already dyed several bolts for you, my lady. As for the dyeing cloth, we discard that,” the seamstress told Olivia. “If you desire use such instead and make some garments from it, ’tis enough for a bodice and skirts.”

“That’s very kind. I’d love to.” She picked up the vibrant linen.

Elspeth met them in the passage outside the guest chamber, a tray with a pot and two cups in her hands. “The laird thought you and Mistress Gibson might enjoy some brew, my lady. He also bid me remind you of the midday gathering.” She smiled as soon as she spotted the fabric in Olivia’s arms. “Och, the weavers must be ready to dye the binding ceremony sashes and the lottery cords.”

“You tie up everyone at this shindig?” Ava asked.

The head chambermaid giggled. “No’ exactly, my lady. Those who choose to wed have their hands bound together with a sash that our lord ties as he marries them. Those who wish join the lottery must choose the end of a cord buried in the ground, all criss-crossed beneath, with lads on one side and lassies on the other. The cords, they’re all the same color and weave, so ’tis impossible to ken which holds the ends of the same one. They then tug the cords up from the soil and reel in their partner. Those holding the same ends are matched, and expected to remain wed until the next binding ceremony.”

Olivia followed the maid into the chamber and asked her to sit down and join them for tea, but Elspeth told her she needed to find one of the other maids to finish some work and left.

“That girl works much too hard,” Ava said, frowning as she handed Olivia one of the cups. “She’s always trotting around these days trying to round up the others. I need to talk to Tasgall about the concept of vacation time.”

“Medieval people usually attended mass, and sometimes went on pilgrimages, but otherwise they worked every day of their lives.” Olivia smiled a little as she remembered the reenactments she and some of the other interns had participated in during her summers in France. “If you need to go do something else, please do. I have plenty of sewing and tailoring to keep me busy now.”

“I won’t be needed downstairs for another hour or so. I meant to ask, do you belong to any particular faith?” Ava asked. “Some of the other outsiders do get together for a prayer service on what we hope are Sundays. I’ve been to one, and it’s real nice.”

One of the greatest joys of her adult life was being able to do whatever she liked on Sundays, not that she would say that. “The aunt who raised me was very religious, and took me to church once a week, but I didn’t share her faith. I stopped going after she died in a car crash when I was seventeen.”

“I’m sorry for your loss.” Ava cradled her mug between her palms. “My folks blamed God for all their troubles, so I never attended a church. Never thought I should, given all their bad-mouthing of the Almighty. Can’t say I believe or disbelieve. If you live decent, don’t hurt others, and try to be a good person, that’s good enough for me.”

Olivia wondered if she should tell her the whole sordid story of her past, but decided against it. She wasn’t tiny anymore, so she didn’t have to explain why she’d been that way. In time she might want to confide in the other woman, but for now she’d rather Ava not know the truth.

“We should all try to be good people,” she finally said. “I try to remind myself that every day is a gift, and find ways to be thankful for my life. Even here.”

“You’re a peach, Olivia.” Ava hesitated, and then asked, “Would you mind answering a personal question?”

Had she given something away? She braced herself. “Of course.”

“Do you think you’re safe when you’re with Alec?” Ava asked .

“Very much so.” Her relief fought with her confusion; why would she ask about him? “Ah, he’s been so kind to me, and so patient.” Maybe she had inadvertently violated a cultural practice. “Is that a problem?”

“Our war master isn’t the friendliest fellow at the castle,” she said slowly. “He’s always been very suspicious of outsiders, and absolutely no one would call him patient—except you.”

She wondered if Ava had a grudge against the war master. “I’m just going by how he treats me.”

“That’s the thing I can’t figure out. When I got here I thought he might drag me down to the dungeons for a little interrogation session.” She tilted her head. “Only when you came along, he did a one-eighty and behaved like your personal guard dog.”

“I didn’t ask him to.” Olivia hated how stiff she sounded, but she didn’t like how Ava was talking about Alec. “I believe that he was reacting to how frightened I was at the time. Now that I’ve calmed down he seems to be keeping his distance.”

Ava shook her head and jerked her thumb toward the chamber door. “I’ll bet you a million dollars he’ll be out there tonight pacing back and forth.”

She blinked, confused. “Why would he do that?”

“It’s what he did last night, and the night before that.” The other woman smiled a little. “I know because the men who guard the stronghold at night report whatever they see to my husband every morning.”

“But there’s no reason for him to personally watch over me,” Olivia said. “I’m safe here, aren’t I?”

“As safe as the rest of us.” She set down her mug. “If our war master starts crowding you too much, you come see me, and I’ll talk to him.”

Ava was speaking as if Alec were some kind of stalker, which Olivia knew had to be wrong. “He’s just being a medieval male, really. Women were pretty much helpless in his time, so this is maybe how he thinks he has to protect us.”

“Not us, just you.” As she frowned Ava added, “He barely speaks to me—and he likes me now—but hardly says a word to other women. I’ve asked around discreetly. He’s never treated any female this way. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he’s sweet on you.”

She wanted to be flattered by that revelation, but even with the changes to her body there was nothing special about her. Alec would want someone who was at least as stunning as he was.

“I was terrified and in horrible pain when I fell into the trap, and shocked when I saw you alive and well and the way my body had changed,” she reminded the other woman. “I’m sure when he saw the state I was in he was only trying to calm me down. He hasn’t come back to see me, either.”

The other woman considered that for a moment before she said, “I hope that’s the case, because our war master is not an easy man to know.” She met her gaze. “I’m not trying to insult you, Liv, or imply anything. Just be careful with him.”

No one except the people at work had ever given her a nickname, Olivia thought. What an appropriate one, too.

“I’m glad you said something.” Then, because the other woman hadn’t asked, she said, “You’re curious about why I was so small before I came here. I don’t talk about that with anyone, but I assume Ben guessed what it is.”

Ava smiled. “You don’t have to tell me anything until you want to share it. If that’s never, that’s fine, too. We all have secrets that we’d rather keep to ourselves.”

Long after Ava left Olivia thought about what she’d said. If she was going to be trapped here forever, she would need to make friends. Because only Alec and a few other people knew she had been physically changed by the spell trap, she need never talk about what her body and her life had been like before now. At the same time, she knew hiding that wasn’t healthy; her therapist had cautioned her not to avoid self-disclosure if she trusted someone.

It’s too much to talk about right now. Like Inga said, I should give myself more time to adjust.

Olivia grew so restless that she set aside the sewing she’d started and went down to take a walk through the castle’s gardens. There she skirted around the young men weeding the beds, which appeared to bloom every day with flowers, vegetables, and berries. The looks they gave her reminded her that their binding ceremony was due to be held in a few weeks, something Ava assured her in which she would not be required to participate.

If you’d like to have a lover or husband, I’m sure the boys would line up for you.

Aside from having some lovely flings with the college boys in France, Olivia hadn’t dated much. It took her a long time to trust someone enough to be intimate with them, which was why she’d never slept with Charles. He hadn’t pressed her, either, which had been a relief as she’d never been greatly attracted to him. He seemed fine with just going out to the movies or having coffee together. Charles had already lost his heart to gambling; even if they had gotten serious she knew she would have always taken a back seat to it.

An older man came out of an archway, startling her back to the present. “How may I serve, Mistress Gibson?”

Olivia grew embarrassed, she was sure they had been introduced but now she couldn’t remember the head gardener’s name. “I wondered if I could help out here, sir.”

“Och, call me Eachann.” He swatted the air. “I’ve some seedlings the healer wishes me plant, if you wouldnae mind aiding an old man.”

She followed him to a potting shed, where he had sprouted dozens of plants. The lovely green earthy smell made her smile. “Do you still need to grow things when the trap restores the garden beds every morning?”

“These the healer gathers from droppings where the birds roost,” Eachann told her. “He plants them in small pots and has me watch over them. The seeds of what the birds ate in the world beyond then take root in the soil, sprout, and I put them in a special bed. We cannae tell what they are until they flower or fruit, but we’ve already found what Benedict tells us are cloudberries, sunflowers and corn.”

Olivia helped the old man carry the seedlings out to a mostly bare patch of ground just beyond the shed, where they worked together to plant them in the rich, black soil.

“I think this one might be a persimmon tree seedling,” she told Eachann. “We had one in our backyard when I was a little girl.”

“I dinnae ken persimmon,” he admitted. “What manner of fruit did the tree provide?”

“It’s a kind of berry, I believe—a little smaller than an apple.” Her smile faded as she remembered all the nights she had stared at the fruit hanging on branches just outside her window while her stomach cramped. Once she had given into that temptation and picked one, only to suffer for it. “You don’t want to try them before they’re ripe, because they’re terribly sour. But once they’re ready to be picked they’re very sweet, almost like honey.”

“Then I shall beseech the Gods that this proves a persimmon.” He reached out and patted the back of her hand. “Dinnae fret, lassie. Your worries, they’ll all untangle in the end. I ken, for when you’ve gone on as long as we’ve done, ’tis only the business of living that occupies your thoughts.”

“Thank you.” She wasn’t sure how he understood what she was experiencing, but like everything in this place she simply accepted it. “Persimmons have a long taproot, so we should probably put this one in that soft patch of earth there.”

As they worked, Olivia’s worries did seem to drift away. She’d forgotten the simple pleasure of working outside, as she had at the castle experiment in France. Planting the mystery seedlings and wondering what they would grow up to be made her ask if she could come again and help. Eachann told her he’d be pleased to dirty her hands again any day she wished, but suggested she bring an apron with her to keep from staining her good clothes.

On her way back to her room to clean up Olivia walked through what seemed like a pocket of icy air at the end of a passage. She stopped and looked back, but saw nothing but some shadows, thanks to a couple of torches that had burned out.

“I need to start wearing my cloak,” she murmured as she continued on her way.

B en hovered over his work bench as he scowled at what was supposed to be a miniature treadwheel crane. He’d built it so he could demonstrate to Tasgall McKeran how helpful such a device would be in raising and lowering heavyweight objects intended for the castle’s walls and towers rather than lugging them upstairs. The problem was the damn thing didn’t work, and he couldn’t figure out why. He reached out to adjust one of the compass arm spokes, and the entire assemblage collapsed into a heap .

Congratulations. You screwed that up too.

He walked slowly back to his sitting room, where he took out the only bottle of Armagnac brandy in the stronghold. The spirit had been presented to Tasgall by a visiting official of the king’s court, but the laird had disliked the taste. Thanks to the spell trap it now served as a bottomless supply, as every night the enchantment refilled whatever Ben happened to drink that day. Uncorking the pottery bottle, he lifted it to his lips and gulped down three huge swallows before he nearly choked.

“I’m going to drink all of you tonight,” Ben told the bottle as he put it back. “And then I’m going to drink you again in the morning. All you have to do is keep me drunk.”

He went back out to the work room, where he picked up the remains of his crane model. Heaving it across the room didn’t fix the problem with its construction, but it certainly allowed him to blow off a little steam.

Blame for the disaster could only be his, of course; over the last few weeks all his attempts to fabricate what he needed for his projects had resulted in a series of similar, humiliating failures. Ben couldn’t concentrate on anything long enough to construct it properly because the work room was too quiet now. He also had to do everything himself, and he’d always been better at thinking up ideas than executing them. He’d lied when he’d told Ulf he didn’t need him working as his assistant anymore; it was pretty obvious he was going to get nothing done without the man helping him.

Only the hunter had guessed how much Ben was attracted to him, and even now probably laughed about it with his many female lovers.

“This doesnae want to fly, Healer,” Darro McKeran said, startling him as he brought over the splintered remains of the assemblage. The second-largest man in the clan, he had the same light brown hair as the laird, but soft, dark brown eyes that always looked placid. “Mayhap you may attach wings for the next attempt.”

“I doubt that will help. My apologies, chieftain.” He quickly took the broken apparatus from him and shoved it into a crate. “Did you need something?”

“The laird wished you to join him and Lady Ava for discourse over recent events,” Darro said. “They’re gathering all the senior men to consider Mistress Gibson’s abrupt arrival, and mayhap fathom why the villain flung the poor lass into the trap.”

It still amazed Ben that the McKeran considered him as one of the clan leaders; as far as he knew, besides Ava, he was the only outsider invited to such meetings. For a moment he considered refusing, as he was in no mental condition to be around others. Yet the circumstances of Olivia’s entry into the trap, as well as the strange way she affected their war master, needed to be discreetly discussed.

“Let me clean up and I’ll come down right away,” he told the chieftain.

After washing up and extinguishing the lamps, Ben headed down to the chamber the FBI agent had been using exclusively for her investigation of the spell trap. He knew that Olivia Gibson’s bizarre method of arrival might mean that more variations were on the horizon; the enchanted caterpillars had also been a menacing alteration.

Why now? What’s the motive for mixing things up in a trap that has remained the same for nine hundred years?

Out of the corner of his eye Ben saw Ulf coming down the passage and quickly changed his direction, going through the nearest arch that led into the lists. Fortunately, no one occupied the sparring circles, and all he had to do was wait long enough to allow the hunter to pass by. He walked over to the weapons racks beneath the gallery, wishing once more he hadn’t dismissed the hunter from working as his assistant. Avoiding him had been becoming increasingly difficult, and now he wondered if Ulf were deliberately trying to corner him .

“Do you desire a partner, Healer?” an all-too-familiar voice asked from behind him.

“No, thanks.” He closed his eyes for a moment before he faced the man he didn’t want to see anymore. “I only stepped out here to get some fresh air.”

The Norseman folded his arms. Shorter but far more muscular than Ben, he radiated an intense masculinity that intimidated other mortal men. Contrarily he had so much swaggering charm every woman in the stronghold smiled as soon as they saw him. With his long white-blond hair loose and contempt in his pale blue eyes, he should have looked up at Ben, who was still over a foot taller. Yet somehow he held his head so that he appeared to be looking down his nose at him.

“I have a meeting to go to, so I’ll see you later,” Ben said, and tried to walk past him.

“You shallnae.” Ulf caught his arm and shoved him between two racks of wooden sparring swords. “Ever you run at the sight of me, as you’ve done since casting me from the work room. I want to ken why.” When he said nothing the hunter took a step closer, crowding him. “I called you friend. Tell me, Benedict.”

Ben looked over his head. “I don’t need your help anymore, Ulf. Honestly, I never did. I just made busy work for you out of sympathy. You can’t kill anything here.”

“Ah.” The hunter stepped on the bottom rung on the weapons rack to reach his eye level, and leaned in so close their noses nearly bumped. “So you pity me.”

“I understand how frustrated you must be, trapped in a place where you can’t do as you did in your time. Maybe if you speak with Darro he can find some kind of work for you–” He stopped and stiffened as the hunter pressed his hard body against him. “What are you doing?”

“I weary of your games, Healer. ’Tis time we speak of our dreams.” Ulf brushed his cheek against Ben’s as he put his mouth close to his ear and murmured. “The laird only gave females the right to choose. If I want you, you cannae refuse me—and I ken you desire me. You drink that burning spirit the laird gave you every day now, aye? In hopes it shall help you forget me.”

“You’re wrong.” The words came out squeaky, so he cleared his throat. “I mean, I am drinking too much, but it’s nothing to do with you. You are an attractive man, and I’m flattered by your assumption. That said, I have no intention of being intimate with you or anyone.”

“What?” The hunter drew back and frowned. “Why? ”

“I’m a modern man.” Desperately he tried to think of the most shocking thing he could say that would revolt the other man, but his mind blanked. “I can’t corrupt you. You’re a na?ve medieval man, and I won’t interfere in your life.”

Ulf nodded slowly, as if he understood. “You wish to protect me from the perversions you enjoyed with other men in your time, aye? Such as putting your hand down my trews to fondle my cock, mayhap? Or using your mouth to suckle me? Or permitting me do that and more to you?”

Unbearably aroused, Ben nodded frantically. “Yes, now, please, let me go.”

“I’ve done those things and more than you may imagine, lad,” Ulf muttered, and grabbed a handful of his red curls. “I reckon you’re the innocent one.”

“But you take women to your bed.” He winced as soon as he heard himself say that. “I mean, gossip says that you do. You can’t want me.”

“Lasses, lads, what matters such? What I desire, I desire.” He tugged on Ben’s hair to draw his head down to his. “And I’ve wanted you since you blundered your way into the trap, you eejit.”

He didn’t mean to kiss the hunter, not here, where anyone could see them. Although the clan had been stuck in the spell trap for nearly a thousand years, he knew they still retained their antiquated attitudes toward same-sex intimacy. Yet with the hunter’s lips so near and their bodies almost as close as if they’d already been naked in bed together, he couldn’t help himself. Ulf’s taste filled his head, as dark and deep as a dive into a cool lake, and the moment he groaned the hunter invaded his mouth with his tongue, captivating him to the point that Ben stopped thinking.

It lasted as long as three weeks, or perhaps three heartbeats, and then Ulf wrenched his mouth away and stared at him for a long moment.

“You kept yourself from me for two years, pretending you didnae want nor care for me. You drink to dull the pain of wanting me.” The hunter took hold of the front of his tunic and gave him a hard shake. “You’re more than an eejit. You’re heartless.” He released him, turned on his heel and left.

Ben lifted a trembling hand to his face, and then had the sense of being watched by someone near—someone close. Yet when he looked around the lists he saw no one. Even the guards on the walls had their backs to him. Then he recalled the gallery overhead and stumbled out to see if anyone stood above him watching.

All he saw were shadows.

E lspeth stood in the darkness and waited until Ben left before she wiped the tears from her face. Never would she have guessed that the reason the two men she desired had never looked upon her as a woman they wanted, but at least now she knew. Whether or not they became lovers, she could no longer hope. She’d have to be content with continuing to take clansmen as lovers, for she couldn’t see adding to her humiliation by taking part in the binding ceremony this year.

“You should come back to my bed, lass,” a low, soft voice said.

Elspeth turned to see Kelso emerge from the next alcove. He didn’t appear disgusted, only intent as ever. In his eyes a kind of recklessness gleamed as well—or perhaps that was something she wished to see.

“Mayhap I shall, in time.” As much as she wished to she couldn’t work up a smile for him.

“You ken how greatly I please you. That I should do whatever you wish to keep you as my lover. The one you desire, he doesnae want a woman.” As if she were a poppet he picked her up off her feet and carried her from the gallery down the hall and into the laird’s chamber.

“What do you, Kel?” She tried to struggle free of his hold, but he pinned her to the wall with his weight and jerked up her skirts. “We cannae swive here.”

“Why no’?” He reached down between them and pressed his cockhead to the folds of her quim. “You’re slick, lass. You need me, badly.”

She couldn’t tell him that her arousal had come from watching the healer and the hunter kiss like sweethearts. “Aye, only ’tis the lord’s work room. He and the senior men, they’ll be meeting soon. Indeed, he may come in any moment.”

“Then he may watch me fack you against the wall,” Kelso rasped, still poised to penetrate her. “Unless you bid me stop now.”

Elspeth slowly brought up her arms and curled them around his strong neck. “Do as you want, then.”

He wanted to fack her senseless, apparently, for he thrust into her so hard and fast he knocked all the breath from her chest. His big hands cupped her buttocks as he roughly worked his shaft in and out, pumping into her so deep she felt each hammering penetration in her chebs. She had always preferred her lovers to be a little rough, but this primitive claiming made all of her senses shriek with hunger for more and more.

“I saw them kiss, the healer and the hunter,” Kelso murmured against her ear. “’Tis what made you wet, aye? Imagining them facking together. ”

Elspeth stiffened. “No. ’Tis you, no’ them.”

“’Twas what made my cock hard, lass. I wished to fack you while you watched them.” He plunged his hand into her bodice and roughly fondled her. “Would you dream of such? Or mayhap imagine me with the healer?”

His wicked suggestions finally pushed Elspeth over the edge, and she exploded in a wet gush of lusty pleasure so consuming her vision dimmed. Kelso jetted into her a moment later, grunting with each burst of seed. Then he held her, both of them gasping.

“I shall tell you whatever you wish hear,” he said, rasping the words. “I shall do as you bid me. I’m yours, lassie. You’ve but to keep me.”

He humbled her with his generosity. “I dinnae wish to use you, Kel.”

“’Tis what I desire as well. Come to me after dark, and I shall give you more,” he said as he drew out of her. “I shall give you all I’ve got.” He lowered her to the ground before pulling his trews up over his still-hard cock. “Gods, but I shall have you over and again until you drip with me.”

He stepped back and strode out of the laird’s chamber whistling, as if all they’d done was speak.

Slowly Elspeth shook out her skirts, her arms and legs trembling as she righted her cap and used her kerchief to blot the sweat from her face. The guard had seen too much for her comfort, and yet while they had been in the throes she had not thought once about Ben or Ulf. She might never love Kelso, but he seemed not to care about anything but the pleasure they could give each other.

As she started to leave her left foot landed on a pebble that made her sole go numb.

“Och.” Elspeth frowned and drew back her skirts, but as she lifted her slipper she saw nothing on the stone floor. Then something crawled onto the top of her foot and glittered like a chunk of ice.

A hailstone?

Elspeth tried to shake it off, but her foot and ankle went numb, and a slow, creeping coldness moved up her leg. When she slapped at her shin that strange iciness spread to her hand. She tried to run, but the numb leg collapsed under her and she fell.

“Help.” That one word was all she could get out before the coldness seeped into her chest and sent shards of frost to still her throat.