Page 27 of Crazy About Jill (Highland Berserkers #1)

CHAPTER 27

A lasdair squinted against the bright morning sun as he stepped onto the porch of the Greenwood farmhouse. The air was crisp and bright, curling around his senses like a spell. He inhaled deeply, committing the unfamiliar aroma to memory. It was nothing like the peat smoke and damp earth of his homeland. It smelled of peace.

And peace was something he'd known precious little of in his life as a berserker. Always fighting, always watching, always waiting for the next betrayal or battle.

William and Joe, Jill's brothers, stood waiting in the yard, their postures casual but alert. Their expressions were a blend of curiosity and wary amusement. Behind Alasdair, his brothers shifted uneasily, still disoriented by the strange comfort of beds and indoor plumbing.

"Are ye certain this is wise?" Macrath muttered in Gaelic. "Learning to farm like common serfs?"

"We are guests here," Alasdair replied firmly in the same tongue. "And there is no dishonor in honest work."

He straightened. They looked to him—always had. If he flinched, they faltered. ’Twas ever thus, from the first day they'd banded together—he the leader by unspoken consent, carrying their hopes on his shoulders.

The weight felt different today, after his conversation with Jill the night before. Her words had lingered in his mind through the remaining hours of his watch. Some of us are already quite invested in your future in this century. The memory of her hand squeezing his, warm and reassuring in the moonlight, stirred something deep in his chest. Her touch had been brief but intentional—a gesture that spoke volumes in the stillness of night.

"Right then," William said, clapping his hands together. "Time for a crash course in modern farming."

Alasdair's brow furrowed. "Crash...course?" The strange modern phrases still caught him off guard, no matter how many he learned.

Joe grinned. "Don't worry. No actual crashing involved. Probably."

Despite the joke, Alasdair gave a solemn nod. "We are eager to learn. Whatever tasks you set before us, we shall master them." He squared his shoulders, unconsciously adopting the stance he'd taken when addressing chieftains in his own time. "We willnae disappoint your father's trust."

Joe elbowed William. "Careful, big guy. That kind of talk gets you assigned the heaviest jobs."

"The lad thinks he's jesting," Tavish whispered in Gaelic. "As if we ken what heavy means compared to building stone keeps wi' naught but ropes and our backs."

As they crossed the yard, Alasdair's mind drifted to the strange images from the night before—the movie, Jill had called it. A dizzying world of glowing signs, roaring machines, and skies filled with fire and light. A world at war without swords.

"What of the firearms we saw in your...movie?" he asked, stumbling slightly over the word. Such weapons would be useful against the Brollachan, perhaps more effective than the steel blades they were accustomed to. And if they were to protect this family and their land, they needed every advantage.

William's smile faded. "That's not happening anytime soon. Dad hasn't signed off, and frankly, it's way too early. We barely let Joe near a nail gun."

Joe shot his brother a look. "That was one time."

Disappointment stirred in Alasdair's chest, but he buried it. He was a guest here. And there was wisdom in learning to walk before reaching for weapons. "As ye wish," he said with a respectful nod. "We shall learn what ye deem important first."

The Brollachan weighed heavily on his mind, but he knew they needed to understand this world better before confronting the beast again. Knowledge was a weapon too, one they sorely lacked. And if they were to defeat the creature—to truly make this place safe for Jill and her family—they needed to arm themselves with everything this time had to offer.

Soon, they passed the edge of the fields, the purple rows stretching like ribbons toward the tree line. The sight was unlike anything Alasdair had ever seen—even the grand halls of the Highland lords had never boasted such color. William gestured to the irrigation lines, explaining valves and schedules, and Joe described planting rotations and harvesting bundles for Jill's mother's soap business.

"In spring and summer, we prep and plant," Joe said. "Fall's all about harvesting and bundling. If you're lucky, we'll let you try the distiller."

"Distiller?" Fergus perked up at this, his natural curiosity engaged. "Ye mean for spirits?"

"For essential oils," William clarified. "Mom's soaps need the concentrated lavender oil. Though we do have a still for...other purposes...hidden away in the back forty."

"I like these lads more by the minute," Macrath muttered, earning a warning glance from Alasdair.

Alasdair nodded, taking mental note of every process, every tool. His brothers needed purpose, and this place—this land—it was rich with it. In their time, they'd been mercenaries, fighting for whoever would pay them, never putting down roots. The thought of working the land, of watching something grow from their efforts rather than watching men die...it held an unexpected appeal that settled in his chest like a warm hearth fire.

He felt a swell of satisfaction seeing his brothers engage with this new world, each finding elements that called to their particular strengths. It reminded him of when they'd first banded together—how each had brought unique skills to their brotherhood. Perhaps here, those skills could be used for creation rather than destruction.

He glanced sideways. Fergus was distracted by a chicken, poking at it with cautious fascination. Tavish muttered something under his breath in Gaelic, shaking his head at the sight of a hose coiled like a serpent. But Lachlan was nowhere in sight.

Alasdair's gaze snapped to the barn. "Lachlan!" he barked, more from instinct than alarm. In their time, separation often meant danger.

A moment later, his brother emerged from the shadows, cradling something in his arms. A saddle—worn and cracked, its leather dulled by time.

"This was forgotten," Lachlan murmured, brushing reverent fingers over the surface. "She was good once." His normally stoic face softened as he examined the leather work. Horses had always been Lachlan's true companions, more reliable to him than most humans.

Alasdair arched a brow. "Ye plan to ride into town and challenge their thunder carts?" A gentle tease, to mask his relief at seeing his brother's spirits lifted.

Lachlan didn't smile. "Fix it," he said simply. "If we stay, the horses will need proper gear. No sense wasting a loyal thing."

He turned and slipped back into the barn without another word.

Alasdair watched him go, something tightening behind his ribs. In their time, Lachlan had been known for taming wild horses no other man could approach. He'd once told Alasdair, "Horses dinnae care for titles. They ask only for truth."

Perhaps in that, at least, the centuries made no difference.

Maybe this strange new era would give him that again. Would give them all something back that had been stolen when they were branded and cast out.

"He's good with horses?" William asked, following Alasdair's gaze.

"The best I've known," Alasdair replied honestly. "In our time, men said he could speak their language."

William nodded thoughtfully. "We could use someone like that. The ranch has been short-handed since Mom got sick."

As they resumed the tour, Alasdair felt the tension in his shoulders ease just slightly. Joe explained how Jill's mother had built a loyal customer base with her soaps, how the online world worked—though that term still meant little to Alasdair. But the intent was clear. This was a family working together, building something that would last beyond their own lives. Something he and his brothers had never been permitted to create.

"And now that we are here," Alasdair said carefully, "perhaps we can help with the expansion you spoke of?" He needed to be useful, needed to give his brothers purpose beyond the endless battle readiness that had defined their existence.

Joe grinned. "Now you're talkin'. We've wanted to use more of the land for years. You guys could make that happen."

The possibilities expanded in Alasdair's mind. A future here, working this land, building something lasting. And perhaps, if they proved themselves, if they defeated the Brollachan and showed their worth...

Jill’s image rose unbidden in his thoughts. Could she be part of that future too? Not just as their guide to this strange new world, but as something more? The thought sent a surge of warmth through him that had nothing to do with the morning sun. Her words from last night echoed in his mind: Some of us are already quite invested in your future in this century. Had she meant herself? The possibility was both exhilarating and terrifying.

They walked on in companionable silence for a time, the sounds of birds and breeze replacing the usual clang of swords or bellow of war horns. In the distance, the mountains rose like ancient sentinels. Dense forests bordered the fields, vast and green. And just beyond the horizon, the sea waited.

We are fortunate indeed, Alasdair thought, remembering the nightmarish cityscape from the film. Steel towers, crowds of people, metal beasts screaming down endless roads. This place, by contrast, was open. Breathing. Alive. Not so different from the highlands of his youth, before the battles had claimed him.

"The land here," he ventured, "it feels...similar to home. The mountains, the forests." He gestured toward the distant peaks. "In our time, clan territories were marked by such features."

"Dad says that's why he settled here," William replied. "Reminded him of Scotland, but with more opportunities and fewer clan wars."

"Fewer monsters too, until we brought the Brollachan with us," Alasdair said grimly, the memory of their night hunt still fresh. "I'm sorry for that burden."

"Hey, every place has its challenges," Joe shrugged. "Drought, forest fires, property taxes...what's one shapeshifting monster in the mix?"

His casual humor in the face of such a threat startled Alasdair, but there was wisdom in it too. Fear only fed the beast; courage, even lighthearted courage, was a weapon in itself.

The monster would be dealt with, Alasdair vowed silently. He would learn everything needed about this place, this time—not just to survive, but to truly live here. For himself, for his brothers, and perhaps...for Jill.

As they turned back toward the house, Alasdair's eyes found the silhouette of Jill moving through the flowering rows. The morning light caught in her hair, turning the brown strands to burnished gold. Something stirred low in his chest, a feeling both foreign and familiar. Not just admiration for her beauty, but for the confidence in her movements, the capable way she checked the plants, her obvious knowledge of the land. In his time, a woman of such learning would have been rare indeed, and likely feared. But here, her mind was valued as much as her heart—and he found himself drawn to both.

He watched the gentle way she tended the plants, fingers delicately examining the buds. The small smile that played on her lips as she worked held a quiet contentment that he envied. She belonged here, to this land, to this time. And last night, for one breathtaking moment, she had suggested she might be willing to belong with him as well.

Could she ever truly see him as more than a curiosity from the past? As a man with whom she might build a future? The memory of her hand squeezing his in the moonlight, the warmth in her eyes when she'd told him some of us are already quite invested in your future in this century —these suggested possibilities he'd scarcely dared to hope for.

He squared his shoulders. They would learn. They would work. They would defeat the Brollachan, removing its shadow from this family that had shown them such kindness. And perhaps—just perhaps—they would finally find the one thing they had never been given in their own time.

A place to belong. A place where even a berserker might find not just acceptance, but love.