Page 34 of Crazy About Jill (Highland Berserkers #1)

CHAPTER 34

J ill drummed her fingers against the worn steering wheel of her father's pickup truck, sneaking glances at Alasdair in the passenger seat. The morning sunlight caught in his dark hair and illuminated the strong line of his jaw as he stared out the window. Even relaxed, his eyes tracked everything with a warrior's vigilance—cataloging terrain, noting escape routes, scanning for threats.

"Are you sure about this?" she asked, turning onto the main road toward Aberdeen. The warm summer breeze carried the scent of pine and salt water through the open windows. "Town can be overwhelming, especially on market day."

Her skin tingled with the memory of yesterday's interrupted almost-kiss. The truck cab felt impossibly intimate, his large frame just inches from hers. She'd barely slept, replaying the moment over and over—the steadying warmth of his hands, the intensity in his green eyes as he'd leaned toward her.

"I cannae hide from this new world forever," Alasdair replied, his brogue thicker than usual—a tell she'd noticed happened when he was nervous or emotional. "Besides, your father says we need supplies for the coming battle. Silver for Macrath to forge into weapons."

Jill's stomach tightened at the reminder. "Right. The blacksmith in town has what we need. Dad called ahead."

"And that shop with the wee cakes you mentioned?" Alasdair asked, a hint of a smile softening his features. "Will we have time for that as well?"

She laughed, tension easing from her shoulders. "Cupcakes? I promised, didn't I? Consider it part of your cultural education."

"Aye, my education." His voice dropped lower, sending a pleasant shiver across her skin. "I find myself eager to learn all manner of new things in this century."

The weight of his gaze made her cheeks burn. Something had shifted between them since yesterday—a new boldness in his manner, as if their near-kiss had pushed some invisible boundary.

"The twins told me what ye call these outings," he continued. "Dates, aye? Though Joe said proper dates usually happen after sunset."

Jill nearly swerved off the road, her heart leaping into her throat. "This isn't—I mean, we're just getting supplies. Not that I wouldn't want—" She took a deep breath, focusing on the road ahead while her pulse hammered in her ears. "Is that what you want this to be? A date?"

His large hand covered hers on the gearshift, warm and solid. Her fingers looked so small beneath his, and the simple contact sent electricity racing up her arm.

"I may be from another time, Jill Greenwood, but I'm not blind to what grows between us." His thumb traced small circles on her wrist, each movement leaving trails of heat on her skin. "In my day, I'd have spoken to your father already, made my intentions clear."

"And what are your intentions?" she asked, her mouth suddenly dry.

His answer was interrupted by the blare of a horn as a logging truck barreled past them. Alasdair tensed, hand automatically reaching for a sword that wasn't there.

"Easy," Jill soothed, swallowing her disappointment. "Just someone in a hurry."

They drove in silence for a few minutes, the landscape changing from farmland to the outskirts of Aberdeen. Small homes gave way to businesses, streets growing busier with morning traffic. She watched Alasdair's shoulders tense as he took in the number of vehicles and people.

"It's alright," she assured him. "Just stay close to me."

She pulled into the small lot behind MacAllister's Hardware & Forge, one of the few traditional blacksmiths still operating in the county. The smell of coal smoke and hot metal greeted them as they stepped from the truck.

"Smells like home," Alasdair murmured, inhaling deeply. His expression softened with something like nostalgia. "Our village smith had a similar scent about him."

"You miss it," Jill said, studying his face.

He considered this, head tilting slightly. "I miss the certainty of it. Knowing my place, my purpose." His gaze met hers, intense and unwavering. "But I'm finding new purposes worth pursuing."

That look—like she was something rare—stole her breath.

The blacksmith's shop door swung open, breaking the spell. Grant MacAllister, a burly man with Scottish ancestry evident in his red beard and booming voice, waved them in.

"You must be Conall's girl!" he called. "And this is one of those Scottish visitors he mentioned?" His eyes narrowed slightly as he took in Alasdair's imposing height and warrior's stance.

"Yes, this is Alasdair," Jill replied, silently thanking her father for preparing the cover story. "He's interested in traditional metalworking techniques. We're hoping to purchase some silver for a project."

As the men discussed metals and forging methods, Jill wandered the shop, trailing her fingers over tools both recognizable and mysterious. The walls displayed MacAllister's creations—ornate gates, decorative pieces, and handcrafted knives that caught Alasdair's attention.

She watched him examine a blade, his practiced eye assessing its balance and craftsmanship. For a moment, the modern clothes and setting fell away, and she could see him as he must have been—young and fierce, learning combat in a world she'd only studied in books.

What would her academic colleagues think of this? Dr. Jill Greenwood, shopping for monster-killing weapons with an actual ninth-century berserker. They'd think she'd lost her mind.

Maybe she had. Or maybe she'd finally found something real—something that mattered more than publications and tenure.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Alasdair's voice startled her. He stood close enough that she could smell the subtle pine scent of the soap he'd used that morning, close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating from him.

"Just thinking about how surreal this all is," she admitted. "A few weeks ago, my biggest concern was whether Mom would take her medication. Now I'm helping shop for silver to kill a mythological Scottish monster."

His eyes crinkled at the corners. "Life's full of surprises, is it not?"

"That's putting it mildly."

Grant approached with a small wrapped package. "That's the finest silver I've got. Tell Conall he owes me a bottle of that peaty whisky of his."

After paying, they stepped back into the summer sunlight. The town had grown busier, the Saturday market in full swing in the square a block away. Colorful tents and stalls lined the streets, the air filled with the scent of fresh bread, flowers, and grilling food.

"Cupcakes now?" Jill asked, nodding toward a small bakery across the street.

Alasdair hesitated, eyes scanning the bustling market. "Perhaps we could see this market first? It reminds me of the summer fairs in the villages."

His expression was so earnest, his eyes lit with such genuine curiosity, that Jill couldn't refuse. "Sure. But stay close—it gets crowded."

They wandered through the stalls, Alasdair marveling at the abundance. Fresh produce gleamed in the sun, artisanal cheeses and bread filled the air with mouthwatering aromas, and local crafters displayed their wares.

"So much food," he murmured, watching a child bite into a ripe peach, juice running down their chin. "And none of it spoiled or scarce."

The observation hit Jill like a physical blow. How much had she taken for granted? The simple miracle of refrigeration, year-round produce, food safety standards?

"Here," she said impulsively, purchasing two honey sticks from a local beekeeper. She handed one to Alasdair. "Try this."

He examined the small straw filled with golden liquid, then followed her example, biting the end and letting the honey flow onto his tongue. His eyes widened with pleasure.

"Like ambrosia," he declared, the simple joy in his expression making her heart squeeze. "We had honey in my time, but nothing so pure and sweet."

They continued through the market, Jill introducing him to small pleasures—artisanal cheese, jewelry, intricate woodcarvings with Celtic-inspired designs.

At the far end of the market, a small group had gathered around a fiddler. The lively Scottish reel filled the air, and several couples had begun to dance. Alasdair stopped, transfixed by the music.

"We had similar tunes," he said softly. "For celebrations after harvest or successful hunts. The rhythm is the same, though the instrument is finer."

An elderly couple joined the dancers, moving with the grace of decades spent together. The woman's white hair caught the sunlight as her husband twirled her, their laughter youthful despite their years.

"That could be us someday," Jill said without thinking, then froze, horrified by her presumption. Heat flooded her face as the words hung in the air between them.

Alasdair didn't seem shocked. Instead, his hand found hers, fingers intertwining with surprising gentleness for such a powerful warrior.

"Aye," he said simply. "I would like that very much."

The moment hung between them, perfect and terrifying in its implications. Jill’s heart started to pound as she stared at their joined hands—her modern manicured fingers wrapped in his calloused, ancient strength. A thousand years separated their births, yet here they stood, connected.

A commotion from a nearby stall broke the moment. A group of teenage boys had knocked over a display of pottery, the crash followed by angry shouts and laughter. Alasdair tensed immediately, shifting slightly in front of Jill.

"Just kids being stupid," she assured him, though touched by his protective instinct.

They continued through the market, eventually making their way to the bakery. The sweet scent of vanilla and chocolate enveloped them as they entered, a welcome respite from the growing crowd outside.

"Pick whatever looks good," Jill told him, watching as Alasdair examined the colorful display with serious concentration.

"They're so...decorated," he marveled. "Like tiny works of art."

The young woman behind the counter smiled. "First time at Sweet Dreams Bakery?"

"First time having a cupcake," Jill explained. "My friend is from...a very remote part of Scotland."

The baker's eyes widened. "Well then, you have to try our bestseller—double chocolate with raspberry filling."

They left with two cupcakes and found a quiet bench in the small park adjacent to the market. Jill watched with delight as Alasdair took his first bite, frosting catching on his upper lip. The expression of pure pleasure that spread across his face made her laugh.

"This," he declared solemnly, "might be worth traveling through time for."

Jill reached out to wipe a smudge of chocolate from the corner of his mouth. "Better than medieval fare?"

"Infinitely." He captured her hand before she could withdraw it, pressing a soft kiss to her palm that sent heat spiraling through her body. "Though not the best thing I've found in this century."

The intensity in his gaze left no doubt about his meaning. Jill's breath caught.

"Alasdair," she began, not entirely sure what she wanted to say.

His phone—a basic model they'd gotten him just days ago—chimed from his pocket, startling them both. Jill's stomach dropped. She'd programmed only family numbers into it, which meant...

"Something's wrong," she said, reaching for her own phone.

A text from William confirmed her fears: Dad says come home NOW. Brollachan signs near the east field. Macrath & Fergus tracking it.

The peaceful moment shattered. Alasdair was already on his feet, combat-ready despite his modern clothing and the half-eaten cupcake still in his hand.

"We need to go," he said, all trace of softness gone from his voice. "Now."

As they hurried back to the truck, Jill cast one last glance at the market—at ordinary people enjoying their ordinary Saturday, blissfully unaware of ancient monsters and time-displaced warriors. For a few precious hours, she and Alasdair had been just another couple enjoying the summer day.

Reality, it seemed, had other plans.

The silver package felt suddenly heavy in her bag. What they'd purchased as a precaution was now an immediate necessity. The battle they'd been preparing for was no longer a distant concern but an imminent threat.

Alasdair's hand found hers as they reached the truck, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "We'll face it together," he promised, his voice steady and sure. "Whatever comes."

In that moment, despite the danger awaiting them, Jill believed him. Together, they might just be strong enough to face anything—even a monster from another time.

She started the engine, leaving behind the simple pleasures of cupcakes and markets for the complex reality of their shared fate. As they sped toward home, toward whatever danger awaited, one thought crystallized in Jill's mind with startling clarity: she was falling in love with Alasdair MacTyre, and not even a thousand years or a mythical monster could change that fact.