Page 8 of Crazy About Jill (Highland Berserkers #1)

CHAPTER 8

J ill pushed open the bunkhouse door, her mind still reeling from the day's revelations as she led the warriors inside. Her fingers had been digging crescents into her palms since the moment her father cast that spell, and even now, the air around them still seemed to hum with ancient power. She flipped the light switch, and the warriors tensed as electric illumination flooded the space.

Years of questions suddenly crystallized in her mind as she watched the men cautiously enter. The odd books in her father's study she'd never been allowed to touch. His inexplicable knowledge of historical events, related with such vivid detail it was as if he'd been there himself. The strange, ancient lullabies he'd sung to her as a child—songs no linguistics professor had ever heard before.

A druid. My dad is an actual druid from medieval Scotland. The kind who can do magic spells and speak ancient languages and apparently give people instant English lessons.

She'd always known Dad was different - Mom's playful magician nickname suddenly felt a lot less whimsical. All those times she'd caught him murmuring to plants that mysteriously thrived, or the way animals seemed to understand him...it hadn't been her imagination after all.

The bunkhouse interior held the mingled scents of cedar, and lemon polish. Eight neatly made beds with tartan quilts lined the walls, their iron frames gleaming in the soft lamp light. A worn leather couch and armchair occupied one corner near a woodstove, while the other end held a simple kitchenette with modern appliances. Fresh paint and new linens couldn't quite mask the building's age, but Jill had always found its weathered cedar beams and stone hearth comforting.

"This is where you'll be staying," she said in careful Gaelic, figuring they might appreciate their native tongue after whatever her father had done to give them English. "We keep it ready for seasonal workers during our two harvest times, and sometimes for visiting friends or family. It's well-stocked."

She stepped aside, allowing them to explore. She watched Alasdair's face as he surveyed the space, noting the furrow in his brow as he took in the unfamiliar surroundings. His brothers spread out like cautious cats, touching surfaces with varying degrees of curiosity and wariness.

"Beds," she explained, leading them into the sleeping area. "Though I imagine they're a bit different from what you're used to.”

Cillian poked at a pillow with such intense concentration that Jill had to bite her lip to keep from laughing. He jumped when it gave under his finger, shooting her a sheepish look.

"It's so soft," he marveled, his face lighting up with wonder. "Like sleepin' on clouds, I'd wager!"

He can't be much older than my students , Jill realized with a jolt. A boy who should be studying and making friends, not fighting battles across centuries.

"Come this way," she said, gesturing toward the bathroom. "This is something you'll need to understand."

They crowded in the doorway as she entered the bathroom. "This is for washing and...other necessities." She pointed to the toilet. "Watch."

She wadded up some toilet paper and dropped it in the bowl, then demonstrated the flush. Their collective gasps and exclamations of wonder made her smile. Even Macrath, the gruffest of the bunch, looked impressed.

"By the saints," he muttered, peering suspiciously into the bowl, his thick brows furrowed. "Where does it go? Some manner of underground river?"

"Best not to ask," Tavish replied sagely, though his own eyes were wide with amazement. "Tis clearly some form of water magic."

That wonder turned to chaos when Lachlan discovered the shower. "Wait!" Jill lunged forward, but too late. Water sprayed everywhere, and she found herself pressed against Alasdair as she reached past him to turn off the tap. Her historian's mind cataloged the sensory details: the surprising heat radiating through his damp tunic, the scent of pine and leather and something indefinably male, the solid strength of him.

Oh no. Don't even think about it, Jill. Do not go there.

Clearing her throat, Jill stepped back, her clothes uncomfortably damp. "Actually, let me explain this properly. This is a shower - it's like having your own personal waterfall, but you can control how warm or cold it is." She demonstrated the knob, letting them feel the temperature change. "See? No need to heat water over a fire or haul it from a well."

Their expressions reflected varying degrees of wonder. Fergus reached out tentatively, letting the warm water run over his hand, his gaze analytical. "Like a hot spring," he murmured, "but at our command?"

"Exactly," Jill said, reaching for the bottles on the shelf. "And these? This is shampoo for your hair, conditioner to make it soft, and soap for everything else." She popped open the shampoo cap. "Here, smell."

The brothers passed the bottle around, their reactions as distinct as their personalities. Macrath gave it a suspicious sniff, his nose wrinkling. "Smells like a meadow. Men shouldnae smell like flowers," he grumbled, though he took another curious whiff.

Tavish inhaled deeply, his expression appreciative. "Reminds me of summer in the Highlands," he said wistfully. "When the heather blooms purple across the moors."

Lachlan, entranced by the shower, barely glanced at the bottle. "Will it harm the horses if I smell of this?" he asked practically.

Fergus examined the bottle with interest. "What manner of ingredients create such a scent?"

Alasdair's eyes widened slightly as he detected the familiar aroma. "Like the fields outside," he said, recognition in his voice.

"My mother makes these herself," Jill confirmed. "Much better than whatever you were using before." She immediately wanted to kick herself - what if that was rude? But Alasdair just chuckled.

"Aye, a sight better than lye soap and river water," he agreed, examining the shower setup with new interest. His fingers traced the metal fixtures with something approaching reverence. "And this warm water - it never runs out?"

"Well, the hot water heater has its limits," Jill explained. "When it runs out you have to wait for it to reheat. So maybe don't all try hour-long showers on the same day. But yes, basically. Clean, hot water whenever you want it."

"Whenever we want," Cillian repeated softly, as if the concept was almost too wonderful to believe.

A knock at the door announced William and Joe's arrival, arms loaded with bags of groceries. "We raided the pantry," Joe announced cheerfully, setting his bags on the counter, his movements energetic and playful.

"Hope you guys like sandwiches," William added, his expression more reserved but eyes alert as he assessed the warriors.

The kitchen tour nearly ended in disaster when Tavish discovered the refrigerator, yanking the door open with such enthusiasm that it rattled.

"Here's food to get you through tonight," she explained as her brothers unpacked bread, peanut butter, jelly, apples, and other simple foods. "We'll show you how to prepare it."

William demonstrated making a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, his methodical approach earning nods of approval from the warriors. Joe's more enthusiastic explanations about the refrigerator drew them in, his hands gesturing animatedly as he explained how it kept food cold without ice.

As the impromptu meal came together, Jill noticed how Alasdair watched over his men—the quiet pride in his eyes as they discovered each new wonder, the gentle way he guided Cillian when he seemed overwhelmed, the patient explanations he offered when Macrath grew suspicious. Despite their imposing appearances, there was a tenderness in how they looked to him, and how he cared for them in return.

"You'll need new clothes," she said, eyeing their medieval garb. "We'll get some ordered. There are sleep clothes in the drawers for now." She gestured to the dresser, then added in English, "Nightshirts," testing their new linguistic abilities.

Alasdair translated automatically, then blinked in surprise when the words came out in English. The look of bewilderment on his face was so comical that Jill couldn't help but laugh. After a moment, he joined in, the rich sound of his chuckle doing funny things to her insides.

As they prepared to leave, Jill noticed Fergus hanging back, his gaze on the small bookshelf near one of the beds. She approached him quietly. "They're just some old paperbacks we keep out here for rainy days," she explained.

"Books are a treasure," he replied, running his finger reverently along the spines. "In our time, only the wealthiest or the clergy had access to such things."

Fergus pulled one out, his eyes widening as he opened it. "I can...I can read this," he said in astonishment, staring at the pages. "The words make sense to me, though I've never seen this script before." He looked up at Jill, wonder spreading across his face. "Your father's spell...it gave us the reading of this tongue as well as the speaking."

Jill blinked, momentarily stunned. "That's...I didn't even think about that." Her historian's mind raced with the implications. "Do you realize what this means? My father didn't just teach you modern English—he somehow transferred complete language comprehension, including a writing system that didn't even exist in your time." She shook her head, both impressed and unsettled by the depth of her father's abilities. "Just how powerful is druid magic?"

"Powerful enough to fling us across centuries," Tavish remarked from nearby, his tone wry but his eyes reflecting the same wonder as Fergus.

"I'll bring you some better books tomorrow," she promised, trying to regain her composure. "Some history books, perhaps. To help you understand this time."

William cleared his throat from the doorway. "We should get back. Dad will be wondering where we are."

Turning to address them all, Jill squared her shoulders. "Get some rest. Tomorrow we'll start figuring out...everything else."

As she closed the door behind them, Jill exhaled deeply. The evening air had cooled, carrying the mingled scents of pine and earth. Crickets chirped their nightly chorus, the familiar sound anchoring her in the present even as her world spun off its axis.

"So...time-traveling warriors," Joe said, breaking the silence as they walked back to the house. "Didn't see that coming."

"And Dad's a druid," William added, his voice tight. "Been keeping that secret our whole lives."

"What has he gotten us into?" Jill murmured. The memory of Alasdair's steadfast gaze and the solidity of his presence lingered like a physical imprint. Her world had enough complications without developing feelings for someone from the ninth century.

Focus, Jill. They're lost and confused. They need a guide, not someone drooling over their leader's forearms.

As they reached the porch, they found their father waiting, his weathered face unreadable. The porch light cast strange shadows, making him look simultaneously familiar and foreign.

"I suppose you all have questions," he said softly, his accent thicker than usual.

Jill barked out a laugh that bordered on hysterical. "Questions? Oh, just a few. Like maybe why my perfectly normal rancher dad just cast a spell that would make Hogwarts jealous? Or why you never mentioned being from medieval Scotland?"

Her father's lips twitched. "Would you believe me if I said I've been waiting your whole life to have this conversation?"

"At this point?" Jill shook her head, a reluctant smile tugging at her mouth. "Dad, I just taught a bunch of time-traveling berserkers how to use indoor plumbing. I'm pretty much ready to believe anything."

He chuckled, the familiar sound somehow making everything feel a bit more manageable. "Come on inside. Your mother's waiting. It's a long story, and she'll want to hear about our new guests."

As Jill followed him into the house, she cast one last glance at the bunkhouse. A light still burned in the window, silhouetting tall figures moving about inside. Whatever came next, she had a feeling life on their quiet ranch was about to get a lot more interesting.