Page 13 of Crazy About Jill (Highland Berserkers #1)
CHAPTER 13
A lasdair woke with a start, his hand instinctively reaching for a sword that wasn't there. The unfamiliar softness beneath him sent a jolt of panic through his body before memory flooded back. They weren't dead. They weren't even in their own time anymore.
The events of the previous night came rushing back - the betrayal, the vortex, and then...this unfamiliar world. Alasdair sat up, his eyes adjusting to the dim light filtering through unfamiliar coverings on the windows. His brothers lay sprawled on similar beds around him, their chests rising and falling in the steady rhythm of sleep.
In their own time, they would have been awake at dawn, alert and ready. Years of battle had made light sleepers of them all. Yet here, cradled in these impossibly soft "mattresses," they slept like babes, untroubled by the constant vigilance that had marked their lives as warriors. All except Alasdair, whose burden of leadership never truly lifted, even in sleep.
His stomach growled, reminding him of the meal they'd shared the night before. That magical cold box—what had Jill called it? A "refrigerator"?—had held fruit and cheese, and those odd, sticky sandwiches she'd called "peanut butter and jelly." The taste had been strange, sweet and salty in a way he couldn't quite place, but surprisingly satisfying.
Alasdair's gaze fell on the door Jill had shown them last night. The "bathroom," she'd called it. Curiosity and the promise of hot water drew him to his feet. Inside the small chamber, he turned the knob as she'd demonstrated. Water gushed forth, steam rising in lazy spirals. He stepped under the spray, gasping as warm water cascaded over his skin.
"By all the saints," he murmured. The sensation was unlike anything he'd ever experienced - a waterfall at his command, as hot as he desired. In his time, a bath meant hours of hauling water, heating it over fires, then enduring the inevitable chill as it cooled too quickly. Only the wealthiest nobles enjoyed anything close to this luxury.
A pounding on the door startled him from his reverie. "Oi, Alasdair!" Macrath's gruff voice called. "Ye better not have used all the hot water, ye great numpty!"
Alasdair chuckled, shutting off the flow. "Patience, brother," he called back. "There's plenty for all."
"And what of the rest of us?" came Tavish's voice, tinged with mock outrage. "Are we to smell like yesterday's battle while ye preen like a laird's lady?"
"Dinnae fash yersel'," Alasdair replied, grinning despite himself. "The miracle of hot water awaits ye all."
Wrapping a soft cloth around his waist - a "towel," Jill had called it - Alasdair emerged to find most of his brothers already dressed and eager to explore their surroundings. Daylight now streamed through the windows, revealing a world transformed by morning light.
As the others took turns with the miraculous shower, Alasdair dressed in his worn clothing, grimacing at the state of it. After the clean scent of the soap, the stale odor of travel and battle that clung to his tunic seemed all the more noticeable.
"Shall we see what lies beyond these walls?" Fergus suggested, his scholarly curiosity evident in his bright eyes. "I've a mind to understand this place better."
"Aye," Alasdair agreed. "But remember—we're strangers here. We observe before we act." His mind flashed briefly to the Brollachan that had followed them through time. Somewhere out there, that shadow lurked, a danger to these kind people who had taken them in. They would need to be vigilant, despite the peaceful appearance of this place.
Outside, the morning air was crisp with early summer freshness, scented with pine and something sweet he couldn't quite place. The farm spread before them, bathed in golden light. Fields of purple stretched to the horizon, their sweet scent carried on the breeze. The lavender, he realized.
His brothers naturally gravitated toward the horse paddock, drawn by the familiar in a world of strangeness. Lachlan was already climbing the fence, a rare smile breaking across his usually stoic face at the sight of the fine animals within.
"They're magnificent beasts," he breathed, extending a hand toward a mare who approached.
"Aye, that they are," Alasdair agreed, watching as the horse nuzzled Lachlan's palm.
In the distance, strange metal beasts crawled along what Jill had called "roads," their rumbling engines carrying faintly on the wind. Above, one of those flying machines—"airplanes," he remembered—traced a white line across the impossibly blue sky. Such wonders, yet here among the horses and fields, there was still something timeless, something that spoke to the warrior in him that yearned for peace.
"It's a fine holding," Alasdair murmured, more to himself than his brothers. His chest tightened with an unfamiliar longing. This was what they'd fought for, what they'd been promised - land, a place to call home. And now, by some twist of fate, they found themselves here, in a world beyond imagining.
The sound of a door opening drew his attention to the main house. Jill's father emerged onto the large porch, lifting a hand in greeting.
"Breakfast in half an hour, lads!" Conall called, his voice carrying clearly across the yard.
Alasdair raised a hand in acknowledgment, noticing the slender figure that appeared beside Conall. Jill. Even at this distance, her straight posture and confident stance were unmistakable.
A strange warmth bloomed in his chest at the sight of her. There was something about the lass that drew him—her courage in facing down six armed strangers, the way she'd gently guided them through the bewildering maze of modern conveniences.
Would a woman like that ever look twice at a man like me? The thought surprised him with its intensity. A relic from another time, with naught but my sword arm and battle scars to recommend me?
His brothers had now scattered across the yard, drawn to different aspects of the farm. Lachlan remained with the horses, while Fergus examined an unusual metal contraption near the barn. Cillian and Tavish peered into what appeared to be place for forging or tinkering, while Macrath had found himself a perch atop a wooden fence, surveying everything with wary interest.
"Think the food will be as strange as those sandwiches last night?" Cillian called over, interrupting Alasdair's thoughts.
"Mayhap," Alasdair replied. "But did ye no' enjoy them?"
"Aye," Cillian admitted with a grin. "I've never tasted anything like it.”
As his brothers continued exploring, Alasdair found himself taking stock of their situation. They were alive, when by all rights they should be dead. They had shelter, food, and the promise of work. It wasn't the life they'd imagined, but it was a second chance.
For the first time in years, Alasdair felt a flicker of hope. They were strong, they were together, and they would find their way.
"She's a bonnie lass," Macrath observed, suddenly appearing at his side and following his gaze toward the house where Jill had disappeared inside.
"Aye," Alasdair agreed, seeing no point in denial. "And clever too. Not many would have handled six armed strangers with such courage."
"Nor offered them shelter and food," Fergus added, joining them.
"We'll make this work," Alasdair murmured, his resolve hardening. "Whatever it takes. We owe them that much, at least."
The promised wives and families of their time had been nothing but lies, bait for a cruel trap. But perhaps, just perhaps, this world offered different possibilities.
She would want a modern man, surely. Someone who understood her world, who could share her interests. Not a warrior from another time who marveled at indoor plumbing. Yet there had been something in the way she'd looked at him last night—a curiosity, perhaps, or even a spark of interest that mirrored his own.
Don't be a fool, he chided himself. She's been kind, nothing more. Don't mistake hospitality for anything deeper.
"We have some time before the meal," Alasdair said, turning back to his brothers. "Let's explore this farm, learn what we can."
The men nodded eagerly, already drifting back toward different parts of the property. Alasdair watched them go, pleased to see curiosity replacing wariness in their eyes. As he turned to examine a row of peculiar wooden boxes at the field's edge—perhaps some kind of storage?—he glanced once more at the main house.
Aye, he thought as he continued his exploration. They would make this work. And perhaps, just perhaps, they'd find more than just survival. They might find a home.