Page 30 of Crazy About Jill (Highland Berserkers #1)

CHAPTER 30

J ill leaned against the weathered porch railing, inhaling the crisp morning air tinged with the scent of lavender from the nearby fields. The sun had barely crested the horizon, casting long shadows across the dew-dampened grass. In the distance, she could see Alasdair and his brothers heading toward the barn, their tall figures silhouetted against the pale sky.

She couldn't help but notice how Alasdair moved—that confident stride, the way the others naturally fell into formation around him. Even in this peaceful setting, they carried themselves like warriors. Old habits, she supposed, ingrained through years of fighting and survival in a world far harsher than her own.

A smile tugged at her lips as she reflected on last night's conversation about courtship traditions. The berserkers' straightforward approach to finding wives had been both shocking and oddly refreshing compared to the complicated dating rituals of modern men.

"You're up early," Dad said from behind her, the screen door creaking as he stepped onto the porch. He joined Jill at the railing, his calloused hands wrapping around a steaming mug of coffee. After witnessing his druidic abilities, Jill found herself studying her father more closely—noting the ancient wisdom in his eyes that belied his apparent age, the subtle power in his weathered hands.

"I wanted to catch the sunrise," she replied, though they both knew it was more than that. Sleep had been elusive with so many thoughts swirling through her mind—not just about Alasdair, but about the Brollachan lurking somewhere in the woods, waiting to strike again.

"Thinking about our medieval visitors?" Dad asked, his Scottish accent thickening slightly as it often did in these early morning conversations.

Jill nodded, turning to face him. "They're adjusting better than I expected. Last night they were asking about modern dating customs. Their ideas about courtship are...different."

Dad's expression grew serious. "Aye, and that's something we should discuss, lass. I've seen the way you and Alasdair look at each other."

Heat crept into Jill's cheeks. Was it that obvious?

"There's something you need to understand," he continued. "For men like Alasdair, there's no such thing as casual dating. In our time—his time—courtship had one purpose: marriage. If you allow him to court you, in his mind, you're considering him as a husband."

The bluntness of his statement caught her off guard. "Dad, we're not—I mean, we haven't even?—"

"I know," he said gently. "But it's important you understand his perspective. Modern dating—getting to know someone without commitment, seeing multiple people—that concept didn't exist. For Alasdair, showing interest means serious intentions."

As their conversation lulled, a comfortable silence settled between them. Jill watched a hummingbird flit between the hanging baskets of fuchsias, its wings a blur of motion. She sensed a shift in her father's mood, a heaviness that seemed to settle over him like a cloak.

"You know, Jilly-bean," Dad began, his voice soft and contemplative, "I remember being in his position once. Lost in a strange new world, trying to make sense of everything."

Jill turned toward him, curious. She'd heard bits and pieces of his arrival story growing up, but now she knew she’d never heard the full account. "What was it like for you? When you first got here?"

Dad's fingers tapped a restless rhythm against his mug. "Terrifying. Everything was so different, so overwhelming." His gaze grew distant, as if seeing across centuries. "Imagine it—one day ye're in a world where the fastest thing is a galloping horse, the next ye're watching metal beasts roar down roads at unbelievable speeds."

"And then I met your mother." A warm fondness crept into his voice.

Jill smiled, eager to hear more about her parents' love story. The tale of how they met had always been one of her favorites growing up—romantic and mysterious.

"I liked Sarah from the moment I saw her. It was the way she carried herself—bold and certain, with laughter that refused to be tamed. She had the look of a woman who knew her own mind, and it struck me like a hammer to the chest."

He smiled at the memory, a rare softness in his face, but then his expression grew more serious.

"I won't lie to ye—there were practical matters too. Her family had money, stability—things I desperately needed to survive in this new world. But even without all that, I would have chosen her.”

Jill flinched, surprised by this admission. "But...I thought..." Her voice trailed off, uncertain how to reconcile this new information with the romantic tale she'd grown up hearing.

Dad's eyes, so like her own, filled with sincerity. “In my time, marriage was rarely about love alone. It was also about survival, alliances, childbearing. I carried those values with me, even as I struggled to adapt to everything else."

He sighed, running a hand through his graying hair. "The love came—as I expected it to. But I can't deny that knowing she could help me navigate this strange new world made her all the more precious to me."

Jill's mind whirled, trying to process this more nuanced version of her parents' love story. Her academic knowledge of historical marriage practices collided with the personal revelation about her own parents. The historian in her understood, but the daughter in her felt a subtle shift in perspective.

"How...how did you know it was real? That it wasn't just gratitude or need?" The question felt vital, not just for understanding her parents' relationship, but for her own confused feelings toward Alasdair.

A soft smile played on Dad's lips. "It was the little things. The way she'd leave wildflowers on my pillow. How she'd sing off-key while doing the dishes. The sound of her laugh." His voice grew thick with emotion. "And now, seeing her fight this illness with such grace and strength—I fall in love with her all over again every day."

The raw emotion in his voice was unmistakable. There was no doubting the depth of his love. Her mother had been feeling stronger lately—eating more, laughing again. It gave Jill a fragile but growing hope. Emotion tightened her chest at the tenderness in his voice.

Dad's hand came to rest on her shoulder, warm and comforting. "I'm telling you this because I want you to be careful, Jilly. Men like Alasdair—they come from a different world, with different values. What looks like love might be complicated by other needs."

"You think he's just using me? To adapt to this time?" The thought hurt more than she wanted to admit, a sharp pain blooming beneath her ribs.

"No, lass. I think he's a good man—honorable to his core. But his world shaped him differently than yours shaped you." Dad's eyes held ancient wisdom as he gazed at her. "In his time, finding a strong connection to this world would be vital to survival. The lines between love and practicality might blur, even for him."

The weight of his words settled in Jill's stomach like a stone. She thought of Alasdair's intense gaze, the way her heart raced when he was near. The fleeting touches, the way he seemed to seek her out. Was it real? Or was she just a convenient bridge to this new world for him?

"There's so much more to consider," Jill said softly, voicing the tangle of concerns that had kept her awake half the night. "We come from completely different worlds—different values, different expectations. He was raised in a time where violence was the primary way to resolve conflicts, where women's roles were strictly defined. What happens when modern life challenges those ingrained beliefs?"

She gestured toward the distant figures of the warriors. "And then there are the practical considerations—he has no legal identity in our world, no education our society recognizes. What kind of future could we build together?" A thought that had nagged at her surfaced. "And what about children? How would we agree on how to raise them with such different backgrounds?"

Dad squeezed her shoulder gently. "Ye can't know all the answers now, sweetheart. Love is always a risk. But you're smart, and you have a good heart. Trust your instincts."

Her academic mind wanted evidence, data points, historical precedents. But this wasn't a research project—it was her life, her heart. And neither her PhD nor her extensive knowledge of medieval Scottish history had prepared her for falling for a man from that very era.

As Jill watched Alasdair in the distance, his powerful frame easily hefting a bale of hay, she felt a war of emotions raging within her. Attraction, uncertainty, hope, and fear all battled for dominance. She saw how naturally he took to the farm work, adapting to this new life with surprising grace. But was that enough to bridge a thousand years of differences?

"Thanks, Dad," she said finally, offering him a small smile. "I've got a lot to think about."

Dad nodded, understanding in his eyes. "Your mother's probably awake. I should check on her."

Emotion rose again at the tenderness in his voice. Whatever complications had been part of their beginning, there was no doubting the depth of his love now. Perhaps that was the lesson—that love could be both immediate and enduring, passionate and practical at once.

Left alone on the porch, Jill's gaze drifted back to Alasdair. The morning sun glinted off his hair, and even from this distance, she could see the easy camaraderie between him and his brothers. There was Macrath, gruffly showing Cillian how to properly stack hay bales. Tavish telling what appeared to be a joke, his hands gesturing wildly. Lachlan already at work with the horses, his quiet competence evident even from afar.

Despite all the logical reasons, despite all the potential pitfalls and complications, something about Alasdair called to her on a level deeper than reason. Perhaps that was what her father had experienced with her mother—that inexplicable connection that transcended practical considerations.

What if, for once in her life, she didn't analyze every angle? What if she allowed herself to feel without the filter of academic detachment? The thought was both terrifying and exhilarating.

"Maybe some risks are worth taking," she whispered to herself, the decision crystallizing in her mind. She wouldn't rush headlong into romance, but neither would she let fear hold her back from exploring whatever this connection might become.

With a deep breath, Jill pushed herself away from the railing. She had chores to do, a ranch to run. Questions of love and time-crossed romance would have to wait. But as she walked down the path, drawn by the thought of seeing Alasdair, she felt lighter somehow. She couldn't predict the future—no one could—but she could choose to face it with an open heart.