Page 17 of Crazy About Jill (Highland Berserkers #1)
CHAPTER 17
A lasdair's muscles ached as he hefted another bale of hay, the scratchy material nothing like the rough straw he was accustomed to. The barn around him was a marvel of engineering, all gleaming metal and precise angles. It both awed and unsettled him, a constant reminder of how far from home they truly were.
In his time, barns had been simple structures—wooden frames with thatched roofs, earthen floors packed hard by generations of use. This modern equivalent, with its soaring height and complex pulley systems, would have been the envy of the greatest castle builders in Scotland. Even McKinnie, with all his wealth and power, had never possessed anything so grand simply to house animals and feed.
"Well done, Alasdair," Jill's voice called out, sending an unexpected warmth through his chest. He turned to see her approaching, her confident stride and practical attire a stark contrast to the demure women of his time.
The lavender scent that clung to her caught him off guard. In his time, only the wealthiest had such pleasing fragrances.
"Thank ye, Jill," he replied, the unfamiliar English words becoming easier with each passing hour. The druid's spell—a thought that still sent unease crawling down his spine—had gifted them with this new tongue. A mixed blessing, to be sure, but one he was grudgingly grateful for. "Your patience with us...it means more than I can express."
A lifetime of wariness made accepting help difficult, especially from a druid's family. Yet there was something about Jill that disarmed his usual caution—an openness in her amber eyes, a genuine warmth in her smile that reminded him of simpler times, before betrayal had hardened his heart.
"Ye treat us as men," he added quietly, "not as monsters or curiosities. That is...rare."
Jill's smile sent his heart racing in a way he wasn't prepared for. "You're all doing great," she assured him. "I've never seen anyone pick things up so quickly."
Pride swelled in Alasdair's chest, both at her praise and at the sight of his brothers working diligently around the barn. They were adapting, despite the strangeness of it all. Cillian was carefully grooming a horse, his usual quiet demeanor seeming to soothe the beast. Fergus, ever curious, was examining a large metal contraption—a "tractor," Jill had called it—with wide-eyed wonder.
"By the saints," Fergus muttered, his fingers tracing the machine's contours, "to think such marvels exist. In our time, this would be..."
"Sorcery," Alasdair finished for him, understanding all too well. The line between magic and this "technology" seemed blurred beyond recognition. He turned back to Jill. "Your world is full of wonders, Jill. It's...overwhelming at times."
"And yet we take it all for granted," she replied thoughtfully. "Electric lights, running water, machines that do the work of twenty men..."
"I canna imagine growing so accustomed to magic that ye no longer see it," he said, shaking his head. In truth, she was the greatest wonder of all—a woman of learning and strength, who seemed to straddle both their worlds with grace.
Jill's expression softened with understanding. "I can only imagine how different everything must seem. But you're all handling it amazingly well."
Her praise warmed him more than it should have. "We've had to adapt to far worse situations," he said, then instantly regretted the grimness of his words. "Though none quite so...bewildering."
"Aye," Macrath grumbled from nearby, where he struggled with a modern pitchfork. "Give me a good battle axe over these tools any day."
"Careful what ye wish for, brother," Alasdair cautioned quietly. "The Brollachan is still out there, and I doubt these tools would be much use against it." The shapeshifting beast that had followed them through time weighed heavily on his mind, a threat he couldn't afford to forget amidst the wonder of this new place.
As the day wore on, Alasdair noticed his brothers' growing fatigue. Their bodies, honed for battle and a different kind of labor, were struggling with these new tasks. The work wasn't harder than what they were accustomed to—indeed, these modern tools made many tasks easier—but it used different muscles, required different movements. He caught Macrath's frustrated growl as he wrestled with a gate latch and knew it was time for a break.
"Perhaps," he ventured, turning to Jill, "we might rest for a moment?"
Jill's face lit up. "Of course! How about a swim? There's a pond nearby that's perfect for cooling off."
The thought of cool water against his skin was blissful after hours of labor in the summer heat. But then another image intruded—Jill, wet and glistening...Would women in this time swim alongside men? The very thought sent heat flooding through him that had nothing to do with the summer sun.
Alasdair felt heat rush to his face. "That would be most welcome," he managed, his voice rougher than intended.
Before he could wrestle with the propriety of such a situation, Jill's father's voice cut through the air. "No, Jill. You won't be showing it to them. Your brothers can take care of that."
The older man's expression was knowing, almost amused, as he glanced between Jill and Alasdair. For a moment, Alasdair wondered if the druid could somehow read his thoughts—a mortifying possibility.
Relief and disappointment warred within Alasdair. He cleared his throat, nodding to Jill's father. "Your father speaks wisely," he said. "We wouldnae want to impose on your...what is the word? Privacy."
"It's fine," Jill replied, though Alasdair caught a hint of disappointment in her tone. "Joe and Will know the way. I'll help Mom with dinner in the meantime."
As Jill's brothers led them to the pond, Alasdair found his thoughts drifting back to her—her kindness, her strength, the way she seamlessly bridged the gap between their worlds. In his time, educated women had been rare, typically cloistered in convents or serving as healers. To meet one who spoke with such confidence, who carried herself with such assurance, who understood his world even as she introduced him to hers—it was intoxicating.
But he pushed the thoughts aside. They were here to adapt, to survive. He couldn't afford distractions, no matter how appealing. His brothers needed him focused, clear-headed. The promise of wives and families had been a cruel lie in their own time; he wouldn't let himself be lured by similar dreams now, no matter how his heart quickened when Jill was near.
"Come on, Alasdair!" Cillian called, already stripping down to the undergarments Joe had called "boxers." "The water's wonderful!"
The cool pond was a balm to his aching muscles and troubled mind. As he watched his brothers splash and laugh, tension he hadn't realized he'd been carrying began to ease. Macrath and Tavish were engaging in a water battle, while Fergus floated peacefully on his back, gazing up at the vast blue sky. They looked younger, unburdened, in a way Alasdair hadn't seen since before they were cast out from their clans.
"They needed this," he murmured, watching the simple joy on faces that had known too much hardship.
"Your sister," he found himself asking Will, who sat beside him on the grassy bank, "she's unmarried?"
The question slipped out before he could stop it. Will gave him an appraising look.
“Yes,” he replied finally. "She was engaged once, a few years back. Professor type, like her. But when mom got sick a few years back, she started coming back home more and more. They ended up breaking it off.”
Anger flared in Alasdair's chest at the thought of someone abandoning Jill. In his time, such dishonorable behavior would have earned a man a beating at the very least. "He sounds like a coward," he said before he could stop himself.
Will's eyebrows rose, but he nodded. "Pretty much what Dad said, though with more colorful language." He studied Alasdair carefully. "She gave up a lot to come home—teaching position at a prestigious university, research opportunities. But family comes first for Jill. Always has."
Family. The word resonated deeply within Alasdair. Wasn't that what he'd always fought for? A chance for him and his brothers to have a place, to belong somewhere, to build families of their own? The dream that had been cruelly snatched away by McKinnie's betrayal.
"She has honor," Alasdair said quietly, more to himself than to Will. Not the battlefield honor of his world, but something deeper, truer. Something that made her uniquely Jill.
They were alive, they were together, and they were learning. It was enough. It had to be.
But as the sun began to set, casting a golden glow, Alasdair couldn't help but wonder what tomorrow would bring—and how long he could ignore the growing spark he felt whenever Jill was near.
"Come on, lads," he called to his brothers as the light began to fade. "Let's not keep our hosts waiting."
As they made their way back to the farmhouse, clean and refreshed, Alasdair caught sight of Jill on the porch. The setting sun turned her brown hair to burnished gold, her smile warming something in his chest that had been cold for far too long.
He'd known desire before—raw and straightforward. But this feeling was different, more complex. It wasn't just her beauty that drew him, but her mind, her spirit, her kindness. She made him want to be worthy, to be more than the berserker the world had made him.
Perhaps this new world held more promise than he'd dared to hope.