Page 36 of Crazy About Jill (Highland Berserkers #1)

CHAPTER 36

J ill tucked a strand of hair behind her ear as she pored over the ancient text spread across the kitchen table. The leather-bound volume—one of her father's most treasured possessions—smelled of time and secrets, its pages yellowed and fragile beneath her careful touch. Beside it, her laptop cast a soft glow, the screen filled with half-translated Gaelic snippets, grainy images of ancient carvings, and conflicting articles about Scottish folklore.

Outside, the storm that had started last night continued unabated, rain lashing against the windows while thunder rumbled in the distance.

A perfect backdrop for researching ancient Scottish monsters, she thought wryly, fighting back a yawn. Her academic mind craved the certainty of footnotes and peer-reviewed studies, not the frustrating ambiguity of folklore that had suddenly proven all too real.

The Brollachan's nature remained elusive despite hours of research. Her historian's training had taught her to question, to validate, to cross-reference—but this creature existed in the murky space between mythology and reality, a place where her training offered little guidance. Worse, every passage she translated made the creature sound more dangerous, more ancient, more hungry.

"Find anything useful?" William asked, setting a steaming mug of coffee down by her elbow.

Jill looked up, noting the dark circles shadowing her brother's eyes. He'd been up most of the night helping their father and Macrath at the forge, hammering silver into weapons. The acrid scent of metal and fire still clung to his clothes.

"Nothing we don't already know," she sighed, rubbing her tired eyes and gratefully wrapping her fingers around the warm mug. "Shapeshifter, drawn to magical energy, vulnerable to silver and pure intention." She gestured at the rain-streaked window. "At least the weather's keeping it subdued for now. They seem to dislike water."

William nodded, then hesitated, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. His expression changed to something more guarded, the look he'd worn since childhood when working up the courage to say something uncomfortable.

"Can I ask you something?" he finally said.

Something in his tone made Jill straighten, wariness prickling along her spine. "Of course."

"What exactly is going on between you and Alasdair?"

The bluntness of the question caught her off guard. Heat crept up her neck as she recalled Alasdair's words in the barn last night— my intention is to court ye properly, as a man courts a woman he hopes might one day consent to be his wife . The formal declaration had left her breathless, caught between amusement at his old-fashioned approach and a deeper, more profound emotion she wasn't entirely ready to name.

"That's...complicated," she hedged, buying time while her heart raced.

"We're worried about you," Joe chimed in, appearing from the pantry with an armful of snacks. Unlike his methodical twin, Joe always dove straight into matters—arms full of cookies and no filter. "These guys are from the 9th century, Jill. Their ideas about women, about relationships—it's not exactly modern."

Jill stiffened, her protective instincts flaring. A sharp pulse of irritation bloomed beneath her breastbone. "I'm perfectly capable of making my own decisions about who I date."

"Date?" William raised an eyebrow, his tone hitting that irritating big-brother note she'd thought he'd outgrown years ago. "Is that what you're doing? Because from where we're standing, it looks like you're falling hard for a guy who, until a few weeks ago, thought the earth was flat and women were property."

"That's not fair," Jill protested, anger rising fast. How dare they reduce Alasdair to a stereotype after everything he'd done for them? "Alasdair is more than just some medieval caricature. He's learning, adapting. And he respects me."

"We know that," Joe said, his tone softening as he set his snacks on the table. "He's proven himself a dozen times over. But Jill, this is serious. We're not talking about some guy you met at a conference who lives across the country. We're talking about a time-displaced warrior with PTSD and a target on his back."

"Not to mention his brothers," William added, leaning against the counter. "Have you thought about what happens if things work out with you two? We're going to have five more berserkers looking for local women to court? Aberdeen's a small town, sis."

The genuine concern in their voices tempered Jill's indignation. They weren't being overprotective jerks—they were genuinely worried about the implications of this unprecedented situation. Their family's world had been turned upside down in a matter of weeks.

"Look," she said, closing the ancient text with careful hands, the scent of parchment rising as the pages met. "I understand your concerns. But this isn't something I've rushed into blindly. I've spent my entire academic career studying his time, his culture. I know what I'm doing."

"Do you?" William asked quietly. "Because loving someone from your history books is a lot different than loving a flesh and blood man with a thousand years of cultural baggage."

The word "loving" hit her like a physical blow, stealing her breath. Was that what this was? This fierce, protective feeling that had been growing inside her since the moment Alasdair had appeared on their property? The way her heart raced when he was near, how she found herself storing little details about him—the way he tilted his head when confused, how his voice softened when speaking to the horses, the surprising gentleness of his hands despite their strength?

Before she could form a response, the kitchen door swung open. Alasdair stood framed in the doorway, rain dripping from his dark hair onto borrowed flannel and jeans that somehow emphasized rather than disguised his warrior's bearing. Behind him stood Fergus and Lachlan, equally drenched and serious-faced.

The tension in the room hit her like a wave. Alasdair’s eyes narrowed, assessing the twins’ protective stances, her flushed face, the awkward silence.

"Is there trouble here?" he asked, his voice deceptively calm. But Jill recognized the subtle shift in his posture, the almost imperceptible straightening of his spine, the way his fingers flexed at his sides. A warrior assessing a threat.

William squared his shoulders, looking almost comical as he tried to match Alasdair's imposing presence. "We were just having a talk with our sister about your intentions."

Alasdair's eyebrows shot up, and for a moment, Jill saw a flash of the fierce berserker beneath his calm exterior. "My intentions?" he repeated, his voice low and dangerous.

"Yeah," Joe chimed in, apparently drawing courage from his twin's bravado. "We want to make sure you're not just, you know, looking for a quick roll in the hay or something."

Jill groaned inwardly, mortification washing over her in a hot wave. But beneath the embarrassment was an unexpected surge of affection for her misguided brothers. "Guys, seriously?—"

But Alasdair was already stepping forward, his eyes blazing with a mix of indignation and...was that amusement? "In my time," he said slowly, his accent thickening with emotion, "a man would prove his worth through combat. If ye doubt my honor or my intentions towards yer sister, I would be happy tae demonstrate them in the auld way."

He drew himself up to his full height, which made both her brothers look smaller. "Ye should ken, I have never dishonored a woman in all my days, and I dinnae intend tae start with one as precious as yer sister."

For a moment, silence reigned. Jill's mind raced, trying to process the absurdity of the situation. Her 21st-century brothers squaring off against a 9th-century berserker over her virtue? It was like something out of a bad romance novel.

And then, unable to contain it any longer, she burst out laughing.

Three pairs of eyes turned to her, expressions ranging from confusion to concern. Jill struggled to catch her breath, wiping tears from her eyes. "I'm sorry," she gasped, her sides aching. "It's just...this is ridiculous. We're not in medieval Scotland, guys. Nobody's fighting over me like I'm some kind of prize to be won."

She straightened, looking each of them in the eye. "William, Joe—I love you both, and I appreciate that you care. But I'm perfectly capable of making my own decisions about who I date. And Alasdair," she turned to him, her voice softening, "I know you mean well, but offering to fight my brothers isn't exactly the way we handle things now."

Alasdair had the grace to look sheepish. "I apologize," he said, ducking his head. "I'm still learning yer ways. I meant nae disrespect."

"Well, actually..." William hesitated, then plunged ahead. "It's not just about you and Jill. What about your brothers? Are they going to be moving in on local girls too? Because Aberdeen's a small town, and?—"

"My brothers," Alasdair interjected, his voice suddenly solemn, "are my responsibility. Just as yer sister is yers." He glanced at Jill, his eyes softening. "But now that I've found happiness with Jill, I am determined tae help them find the same. Each deserves a chance at the peace I've begun tae find here."

The raw honesty in his voice made Jill's heart flip. She'd never considered that Alasdair might feel responsible for his brothers' happiness as well as their safety.

"They're good men," Alasdair continued, laying a hand on William's shoulder. "Warriors, aye, but honorable tae their cores. They would die before bringing shame tae any woman or her kin."

Fergus cleared his throat from the doorway. "If I might speak for myself," he said, his voice even. “We have no intention of imposing ourselves on your community. We understand we are...unusual circumstances."

Lachlan nodded his agreement, though he remained silent as always, his calm presence a counterpoint to the tension in the room.

"But you've all been, what, living together as bachelors for years?" Joe asked, his tone somewhere between confused and concerned. "That's a lot of change, going from all men to suddenly living with women."

Something dark flickered across Alasdair's face. "We were promised brides, once. By the very clan that betrayed us." His jaw tightened. "I failed my brothers then. I willnae fail them now. Not when we've been given this second chance."

Something in his words—the weight of responsibility, the depth of his loyalty—struck Jill deeply. This was the true heart of Alasdair: not just a warrior, but a man who shouldered the burdens of those he loved without complaint.

William and Joe exchanged glances, the wind clearly taken out of their sails. "We just want you to be happy, sis," Joe said finally.

"I know," Jill replied, reaching out to squeeze his hand. "And I am. Alasdair may be from a different time, but he's a good man. You guys should know that by now."

As the tension dissipated, Jill couldn't help but marvel at the strange turns her life had taken. Here she was, mediating between her 21st-century brothers and her 9th-century...what? Boyfriend? The word seemed inadequate to describe the connection she felt with Alasdair.

"Och, dinnae fash yerselves," Alasdair said, his tone lightening as he clapped both her brothers on their shoulders. "I understand yer concern. If I had a sister as bonnie and clever as Jill, I'd be just as protective."

Joe chuckled, finally relaxing. "Yeah, well, just remember we're watching you, medieval man."

"I wouldnae have it any other way," Alasdair replied with surprising sincerity.

The moment was broken by the arrival of Conall and Macrath, their clothing singed and faces streaked with soot from the forge.

"The weapons are ready," Conall announced, his expression grave as he surveyed the gathered group. "Silver-tipped spears, arrowheads, and blades. We'll need to prepare for battle. The storm will break by nightfall, and with it, our advantage."

Jill felt a chill run through her despite the kitchen's warmth. The brief normalcy of sibling overprotectiveness gave way to the reality of their situation—a monster from Scottish legend, hunting the men she'd come to care for, threatening everything she held dear.

Her eyes found Alasdair's across the room. In his steady gaze, she saw not just the warrior ready for battle, but the man who had declared his intention to court her, who had stood his ground against her brothers, who had crossed centuries only to find her.

Whatever came next, they would face it together.

"Then we'd better get ready," she said, rising from the table, her resolve hardening like steel. "We have a monster to hunt."