Page 16 of Crazy About Jill (Highland Berserkers #1)

CHAPTER 16

T he early morning sun warmed Jill's back as she led the berserkers through the fields, the scent of the early June blooms rising with each step. After showing the warriors to the bunkhouse the previous evening, she'd insisted on giving them a proper tour of the farm. Her gaze drifted to Fergus, who walked slightly ahead, his shoulders tense as he took in the unfamiliar landscape.

"The purple plants—they're important to your family?" he asked, hesitantly touching a stem.

"Yes, it's lavender," Jill explained, breaking off a small sprig and crushing it between her fingers. "Smell," she offered, extending her hand.

Fergus leaned in cautiously, then his eyes widened with recognition. "Like the oils your mother uses for healing."

She nodded, pleased. "Exactly. We harvest it, dry it, distill it for oil. It's how we make our living."

"Think we can put them to work?" William asked with a raised eyebrow. "Joe and I could use help mucking out the stalls."

Jill shot her brother a warning glance, but unexpectedly, Fergus stepped forward, his chin lifted proudly.

"We are here tae earn our keep," he said, his accent thick but his words clear. "Show us what needs doing."

The dignity in his voice despite their displaced circumstances touched something within her. These weren't men looking for charity or pity. They were warriors seeking to prove their worth, even in this strange new world.

"Fair enough," William replied, clearly taken aback by the directness. "The north paddock needs clearing, and the horses need feeding."

"We can handle that," Tavish replied, glancing at the others. "Lachlan knows horses well."

Over the next few hours, Jill found herself constantly amazed by the berserkers' adaptability. They threw themselves into each task with enthusiasm, whether it was feeding chickens or harvesting early blooms. She smiled as Macrath, brow furrowed, carefully clipped stems with the shears she’d given him.

"Ye must be precise," she'd explained, demonstrating the proper technique. "Cut just above the woody part."

"Like preparing herbs for battle wounds," he'd muttered, his large hands surprisingly deft with the delicate task.

"They're not half bad," Joe murmured, coming to stand beside her near the edge of the field. "Might be out of a job soon."

Jill elbowed him playfully. "Don't let it go to your head. You're still on irrigation duty this afternoon."

"Come on, Jill! Fergus just carried two baskets of cuttings like they weighed nothing. How am I supposed to compete with that?"

She laughed, watching as Fergus indeed balanced another heavy basket on his shoulder with ease. "Different strengths, Joe. I doubt he could program the irrigation system like you did last month."

Near midday, Jill glanced toward the oak tree where she'd last seen her father and Alasdair in deep conversation. She'd been curious about what they were discussing, but had respected their privacy. Now, she spotted Alasdair making his way toward the fields alone, his expression thoughtful but lighter somehow. Whatever her father had said to him seemed to have eased some burden.

As he approached, her pulse quickened in a way that had nothing to do with the heat or exertion. For a man who'd lost everything only to be thrust into an incomprehensible future, he carried himself with remarkable dignity.

"The others are quick learners," she said as he reached her, gesturing toward where Cillian and Tavish were carefully bundling lavender stems.

"Aye," Alasdair agreed, his gaze following her hand. "We adapt. We must." After a moment, he added, "Your father is a good man. Not what I expected from a druid."

The hesitant admission surprised her. "He's been keeping secrets all my life, apparently, but yes. He is a good man."

Alasdair nodded, then pointed toward the irrigation pipes running between the rows. "These water channels—cleverly done."

Jill smiled, appreciating his attempt to understand modern technology. "Would you like me to show you how they work?"

Without thinking, Jill placed her hand on his arm to guide him toward the control valves. The heat of his skin sent a jolt through her that caught her off guard. Hard muscle tensed beneath her touch, then relaxed. A flash of her father's warning about the Brollachan crossed her mind—they should all stay close together with that creature still lurking somewhere nearby. Quickly withdrawing her hand, she knelt and demonstrated how the irrigation system worked, hyperaware of Alasdair as he crouched beside her.

His proximity was distractingly pleasant. When understanding dawned in his eyes, the pride that swelled in her chest took her by surprise.

"You're a quick study," she said, unable to keep the admiration from her voice.

Alasdair's gaze met hers, a warmth in them that made her catch her breath. "I have a good teacher," he replied, the corner of his mouth lifting in a small smile. "Ye explain things clearly, without making us feel like fools."

"Is that how others treated you?" she asked, her voice softer than intended.

His eyes darkened briefly. "Berserkers were weapons first, men second. Useful in battle, but feared otherwise."

The simple truth of it struck her heart. How many academic papers had she read that discussed berserkers as phenomena rather than people? Had she ever truly considered the humanity behind the historical accounts?

"Well, you're not fools," she replied, suddenly shy. "Just...displaced."

The moment was broken by Lachlan calling from the paddock. They turned to see him gently stroking the nose of their notoriously skittish mare. The horse nickered, completely at ease under his touch.

"Well, I'll be," William muttered, impressed. "Looks like we've got ourselves a horse whisperer."

"He's always had a way with them," Alasdair said, pride evident in his voice. "Back home, even the wildest stallions would calm under his hand."

As the day progressed, Jill found herself constantly torn between amusement at the berserkers' mishaps - like when Tavish accidentally turned on the pressure washer and soaked himself - and genuine awe at their progress. They approached each new task with a determination that was both admirable and slightly intimidating.

"By the gods!" Tavish had yelped, jumping back as the water sprayed everywhere. "What manner of water demon is this?"

"It's for cleaning, not battling," Jill explained through her laughter, showing him how to properly direct the spray.

"Ye could have warned me, lass," he grumbled, though a smile tugged at his lips.

"Where's the fun in that?" she teased, earning a soft laugh from the bard.

Macrath nearby snorted. "First day here and ye've already lost a fight to water."

By late afternoon, the heat had become oppressive. Jill wiped sweat from her brow, catching herself observing how Alasdair moved with such natural grace despite the unfamiliar work. Her academic mind had completely abandoned her, replaced by thoughts that were decidedly unprofessional.

"You're all doing well," she said softly to Alasdair as they gathered the last of the harvested lavender, focusing on the bundle in her hands to avoid meeting his eyes.

"We are trying," Alasdair replied, his voice low. "Ye help much, Jill."

The way he said her name, with such genuine warmth, made her heart skip a beat. In his mouth, the simple syllable somehow sounded like an endearment, rich with his Highland burr. Her father had taught her ancient Gaelic as a child, but no linguistics professor had ever mentioned how attractive the accent could be in person.

She was saved from responding by the distant rumble of an approaching vehicle.

"That's Dad, back from town," Jill said, checking her watch. He'd mentioned picking up supplies. "We should probably start thinking about how to introduce you all to the outside world eventually."

Six medieval warriors couldn't exactly blend in, not in their ancient garb. What would they tell people? That they'd hired some history enthusiasts with remarkably authentic accents?

Alasdair's hand briefly touched her shoulder, a gesture of reassurance that sent tingles down her spine. "We will work hard," he said, his voice firm with resolve. "Earn our place. Yer father mentioned visiting friends from Scotland? That might explain our...differences."

The practical suggestion surprised her. "That's...actually a good cover story. Friends from Scotland, helping with the harvest."

"Aye," he nodded. "We'll try tae keep the 'time travel' and 'berserker' parts quiet."

There was a twinkle in his eye that made her smile. For all his serious responsibility as leader, there was humor there too, a quick wit that had survived a millennium of displacement.

Jill nodded, a mix of emotions swelling within her. As challenging as this situation was, watching these men tackle each new obstacle with grace and determination, she couldn't shake the feeling that something extraordinary was unfolding on their little ranch.

With a deep breath, she squared her shoulders. "We should head back to the house. Dad probably bought those clothes we talked about. Ready?” she asked, turning to Alasdair.

His green eyes met hers, steady and reassuring. "Aye, lass. We've faced worse than new garments."

The simple confidence in his voice steadied her. And if her heart fluttered a bit at being called "lass" in that deep Scottish burr—well, that was something to examine later, when she wasn't about to escort a group of time-traveling warriors to try on their first pairs of jeans.