Page 15 of Crazy About Jill (Highland Berserkers #1)

CHAPTER 15

B reakfast had concluded with plans to tour the lavender fields, but as they'd filed out of the house, Conall had placed a hand on Alasdair's shoulder, requesting a private word. The others had continued with Jill toward the purple fields while Alasdair followed Conall in a different direction.

Alasdair's boots crunched on the gravel path as he followed Conall towards the ancient oak tree. The morning air was crisp and clean, so different from the smoke-filled halls of his time. His nostrils flared, taking in the unfamiliar scents - the sharp tang of freshly cut grass, the sweet aroma of blooming wildflowers, and something acrid and strange that he couldn't quite place.

Exhaust, he remembered Jill calling it. The breath of those metal beasts that roared along the distant roads.

His heart hammered in his chest, a war drum of anxiety and anticipation. He'd been in this position before, waiting for the inevitable dismissal. The familiar weight of responsibility pressed down on him—five brothers who looked to him for leadership, for protection, for a future he wasn't sure he could provide.

He steeled himself for the words he was sure would come. Thrice before they'd found temporary refuge with clans seeking their berserker strength, only to be cast out once the battles were won. McKinnie's betrayal had merely been the worst of many.

As they reached the oak, Conall turned to face him. Alasdair studied the older man's weathered face, searching for signs of the duplicity he'd come to expect from druids. But Conall's eyes held only a steady warmth that left Alasdair feeling oddly unsettled.

"I imagine you're expecting me to ask you to leave," Conall said, his voice gruff but not unkind.

Alasdair's muscles tensed, ready for the blow. "Aye, it wouldnae be the first time."

To his surprise, Conall chuckled. "Well, ye can relax. That's not why I brought ye out here."

Confusion washed over Alasdair. "Then why...?"

Conall gestured towards the sprawling fields beyond. "I want to talk about how we can help each other."

Alasdair's brow furrowed. "Help each other?"

"Aye," Conall nodded. "I ken what it's like to be a man out of time. When I first arrived here, I had no one. Had to figure out how to feed, clothe, and shelter myself. It was...difficult."

The admission caught Alasdair off guard. He'd never considered that this druid might have faced similar challenges. "How did ye manage?"

"Got a job at a ranch, like this one," Conall said, his eyes distant with memory. "Slowly made my mark on the world. But it was hard. I dinnae want it to be that way for you and your men."

Alasdair's suspicion warred with a growing sense of hope. "What are ye proposing?"

"Ye can stay here," Conall said, meeting Alasdair's gaze. "Learn what ye need to know about this time. Help with the ranch work - we're about to start harvesting, and we could use the extra hands as we haven’t stated hiring yet. In return, we'll teach ye what ye need to survive in this world."

It seemed too good to be true. "And if we want to leave?"

Conall shrugged. "Then ye leave. I'm not your jailer. But I'd like to help if ye'll let me."

Alasdair's mind raced. The offer was generous, more than they could have hoped for. "I've never trusted druids," he admitted, the words harsh but honest.

Conall nodded. "I understand. And I dinnae expect ye to trust me right away. But give us a chance, and I think ye'll find we're not all bad."

Alasdair considered the man's words. The thought of having a safe place for his brothers, of learning to navigate this bewildering world, was tempting. They deserved a chance at peace, at building a life beyond constant battle and rejection.

But caution still held him back. "How do I know ye're not lying?"

Conall's lips quirked in a half-smile. "Ye don't. But time will tell. If I'm a liar, ye'll not find yourselves easy marks. And if I'm telling the truth..."

"Ye'll find us to be hard workers," Alasdair finished, a grudging respect growing for the older man. Whatever else Conall might be, he had the sense to speak plainly, without flowery promises.

Conall nodded, then his expression grew serious. "There's one more thing. My wife and daughter are here on this ranch. Can I trust you and your men around them?"

The question hit Alasdair like a physical blow. The implication that they might harm women...But he understood the need to ask. "We are all honorable men," he said firmly. "Ye have my word as a MacTyre. No harm will come to your family by our hand."

The image of Jill flashed in his mind—her warm amber eyes, the way she'd reached to fix his collar that morning, her fingers briefly brushing against his skin. The memory of that touch lingered, a whisper of warmth in a world that still felt cold and strange.

The oath sat heavy on his tongue, binding in a way that transcended time itself. The name MacTyre—once thrust upon them as an insult—had become their bond of brotherhood, their code of honor.

Conall studied him for a long moment, then nodded. "Alright then. Ye can stay, as long as ye follow my rules. We'll take it day by day, see how it goes."

Relief washed through Alasdair like a spring tide. To have shelter, work, and time to adapt was more than he'd dared hope for.

"Thank ye," he said simply, the words inadequate but sincere.

"Don't thank me yet," Conall replied with a wry smile. "Wait until ye've spent a day harvesting. It's harder work than ye might think."

Alasdair's lips twitched. "We're no strangers to hard work. We'll earn our keep."

As they walked back towards the house, a tension he hadn’t realized he was carrying began to ease. For the first time since arriving in this future, he felt a glimmer of hope. His gaze drifted to the porch, where Jill stood watching, her amber eyes curious, her long braid catching the morning light.

Their eyes met, and warmth bloomed in his chest. He thought of their breakfast together, the way she'd patiently explained each unfamiliar food, the spark of intelligence in her eyes, the grace with which she moved.

In his time, women of such learning were rare—cloistered in convents or serving as healers. But Jill stood tall, educated and confident, with no trace of fear or subservience.

"Your daughter," Alasdair said suddenly, "she's a scholar?"

Conall glanced at him, his gaze knowing. "Aye. Has a doctorate in history, specialized in medieval Scotland, in fact. Taught at a university before coming home to help when her mother fell ill."

A doctor of history. The concept was foreign, yet oddly fitting. Who better to help them understand this new world than a woman who had studied their old one?

"She's agreed to help ye all adjust," Conall continued. "Teach ye what ye need to know about modern life."

Alasdair nodded, his gaze drawn back to Jill. She raised a hand, a smile playing at her lips. He returned the gesture, feeling oddly self-conscious.

"Good," he said simply. "We have much to learn."

Conall was silent for a moment, then added casually, "She's never taken to strangers so quickly before. Especially not six armed men showing up in the middle of the night." A knowing look crossed his weathered features. "Seems particularly interested in helping you settle in."

Something in the older man's tone made Alasdair's pulse quicken. Could it be that Jill felt the same inexplicable draw that he did? The thought was both exhilarating and terrifying. What could a man like him possibly offer a woman of such learning and grace?

And perhaps, he thought privately, the lessons would extend beyond the modern world's unusual devices and customs. Perhaps they would include the unfamiliar warmth that spread through his chest each time Jill's amber eyes met his—a feeling he hadn't experienced in far too long.