Page 11 of The Story of his Highland Bride (Dancing Through Time #4)

11

F or two endless days, Jackson stuck to his word. Eloise was left alone in her bedroom, behind a locked door, with nothing to entertain herself other than napping, eating, drinking, occasionally crying, and creating increasingly elaborate plans for how she was going to get back to her own time. Of course, it was a romantic idea, falling for the incredibly attractive Laird who’d rescued her from a pack of wolves and had hugged her in a way that no man had ever hugged her, but there was a reason that women in the 21 st century used stories like that for escapism: they weren’t realistic.

For starters, just two days in 1701 had sent her into a spiral of boredom. There was nothing to read, no phone to aimlessly scroll through, and no laptop to get any kind of work done. There was a stack of papers and some ink on the writing desk, which she’d attempted to use, but cutting her own quill wasn’t something she’d been taught at university, and nor was how to stop the ink from spraying everywhere, every time she tried to write a single letter.

On the evening of the second day, Eloise was ready to tie every blanket and fur and dress she could find, to fashion a rope that she could dangle out of the window to make her next escape. If she fell to her death, she figured that at least she wouldn’t have to endure another hour of mind-numbing nothingness.

But just as she was eyeing up the blankets, figuring out how many she might need to make it down to the manicured gardens below, the door opened, and a blissfully familiar face entered.

“Kaitlyn, thank God!” Eloise rushed to the maid and hugged her like she’d been starved for company for months instead of days.

The maid froze in Eloise’s embrace, before relaxing and patting her awkwardly on the back. “It’s nice to see ye too,” she said, chuckling. “I cannae say any lass has ever embraced me like that, but then I’ve never had meself a friend. All the other maids tease me, and they daenae like that the Laird trusts me, so I’m usually by meself.”

“You’re the most wonderful thing I’ve ever seen!” Eloise cried, pulling back to get a better look at her newfound acquaintance. “If it wasn’t for you, I’d be back to counting flagstones. Trust me, when you get to about a hundred, you lose track and then you’ve got to start all over again, and that would’ve made me lose the will to live.”

Kaitlyn laughed, but the flicker of worry in her eyes suggested she thought Eloise might’ve veered toward madness again. “I saw ye only a few hours ago.”

“A few hours? No, no, no, you’ve been gone for weeks. It feels that way, anyway. What do you lot do for fun, huh? Don’t you… read poetry to one another or read books? The Laird said he wasn’t a big reader, but he could’ve asked if I was one,” Eloise grumbled, keeping hold of the maid’s hand as she dragged her toward the armchairs. “Tell me all about your day. Every detail.”

She wouldn’t admit that, in the very quiet moments when there was absolutely nothing to do but sit with her thoughts, she ended up thinking about Jackson. At first, her thoughts had been the angry kind—he’d saved her, hugged her, held her, and then told her off like she was a little kid, while adding a subtle layer of “or else” menace to the scolding. But after a while, her thoughts kept circling back to the hugging and the holding, and the definite desire she’d felt, nudging against her backside. Kilts and belted plaids weren’t exactly good at hiding that kind of thing; there was nowhere to tuck away the obvious.

And I can’t keep thinking about that sort of stuff, or I’ll be writing a very different kind of novel when I get back to 2016. It made her hot, just imagining the daring love scene, perhaps in a forest glade with only the moonlight to reveal the two entangled bodies, moving together in sweet, sweet harmony.

“Ye’ve gone red, Eloise. Are ye sure ye’re well? Should I fetch Old Joan for ye?” Kaitlyn seemed concerned, as she sat down in the opposite armchair.

It was only then that Eloise noticed that the maid had brought something with her. Not a tray of food—which tended to be the same chunk of bread and cheese and a wrinkly apple—but a beautiful dress. It appeared to be made of some sort of silk or satin, though her research memory was rusty on the fabrics of the era. Still, either way, it was gorgeous and sleek and a deep, garnet red.

“Are you going to a party?” Eloise raised a curious eyebrow. “Have you come to rub it in, that you’re allowed to go wherever you like, while I’m stuck up here in my ivory tower?” She meant it as a joke, but her newfound friend looked horrified.

“Nay, Eloise, it’s for ye!” Kaitlyn insisted. “I would never be so cruel. Indeed, it was me and Her Ladyship who’ve been plottin’ how to get ye out for an evenin’, at least. She’s asked if ye’ll dine with her and His Lairdship tonight, and she told me to bring ye this as a peace offerin’. Och, she’s furious with His Lairdship for keepin’ ye locked up in here, but he relented to the notion of ye comin’ down for dinner.”

Disappointment twinged in Eloise’s chest. “So, he didn’t ask me to come to dinner?”

“Nay, but he dinnae seem averse to the idea, either,” Kaitlyn promised, holding up the beautiful, delicate garment. “Shall I ready ye? Och, please daenae send me back to him with a rejection. He’s always in a foul mood at this time of year, though I must say, he’s nae been quite so unpleasant since ye arrived.”

Eloise reached out to touch the pretty dress, feeling like she ought to be wearing white gloves in an atmosphere-controlled room. “Beautify me,” she said decisively. “Even if Jackson doesn’t want to be polite dinner company, I know I’ll have a good time with his grandmother.”

As the women stood, and Eloise began the intricate process of undressing and redressing, she felt the urge to ask, “But why is he always grumpy at this time of year?”

“It’s when his maither and faither passed,” Kaitlyn replied, slipping the dinner gown over Eloise’s head.

Eloise emerged through the deep neckline, pushing her arms down through the billowing sleeves. “How?”

“They were journeyin’ to some his uncle’s castle in the north to celebrate the solstice in secret, travelin’ by carriage,” Kaitlyn explained, as she fastened a fetching belt of woven gold and green silks around Eloise’s waist. “It was rainin’ hard, and the driver was goin’ too swift up a mountain pass. The carriage tumbled off the edge of a small cliff, killin’ his maither and faither. Nay one kens how he survived, but his uncle found him with his faither’s arms wrapped around him. His faither saved his life, at the cost of his own.”

Eloise gaped toward the window, where the sun was just setting below the horizon. She could see the tragedy vividly in her mind, could almost hear the panicked whinny of the horses and the thunder of the rain coming down. Jackson must’ve been terrified, plummeting over the edge of a cliff with his parents, not knowing if they’d live. Then, to discover that he was the only survivor—it broke her heart.

“How old was he?”

Kaitlyn set a thin, gold circlet upon Eloise’s head, threading hair around it to keep it in place. “Couldn’ae have been older than three-and-ten. His uncle stayed for a while, but then he had to go back and tend to his own clan. Since then, it has just been him and his grandmaither. Ye wouldn’ae believe how many cousins and greedy lads came out of the woodwork, tryin’ to seize this clan and title for themselves, but His Lairdship held on tight and hasnae let go.”

As the maid continued to dress her, adding embellishments and adornments, Eloise allowed herself to think about her ride through the forest with Jackson. She’d known that they were the same, then. She’d known that they shared a very similar kind of broken heart, unconnected to her romantically shattered heart. Now, she realized they had even more in common—both had lost their parents in the mountains, both had lost their parents at the same time; the only difference was, she’d been older. Whether that made it better or worse, she wasn’t sure.

“That’s ye done, El,” Kaitlyn said proudly, a short while later. “I must admit, it’s so much easier to dress ye when I daenae have to worry about fastenin’ stays.”

Eloise smiled. “I’m tempted to try them, but I’d also like to be able to breathe.”

She walked over to her bag, which now held the most precious belongings she possessed—spare underwear, deodorant, perfume, and a few items of makeup that made her feel more at home in this faraway place. Sitting down, she sifted through the bag, gasping as she found a pen, buried at the bottom among train tickets and receipts. It was like a gift from the heavens, after all of her struggles with quills and inkpots.

“What’s that?” Kaitlyn came to peer over her shoulder, as Eloise took out her wallet.

“Oh, it’s nothing.” Eloise hastily shoved the item back into her bag and took out the tiny bag of makeup that she always carried, instead.

Eloise flipped open a compact and began to dab away some of the redness and dark circles from her skin, before moving on to eyeshadow and mascara. She slicked a sheen of darker bronze over her eyelids, and combed some black into her eyelashes, to highlight them. That done, she tapped on a little blush and ended with a swipe of berry-red lipstick that, while a bit too vampy for her tastes, was perfect for the dress she wore.

“What is all of that?” Kaitlyn gasped, serving Eloise with a stark reminder that she’d just done something very anachronistic without realizing.

“It’s… uh… like paint for your face,” she explained clumsily. “On the Isle of Man, we just use it for special occasions.”

Kaitlyn gave Eloise a hard look. “Ye’re nae from the Isle of Man, are ye?”

“No, but… I can’t go through it all again now. When I get back from dinner, I’ll tell you everything and, with any luck, you might be the first person who believes me,” Eloise said hopefully, taking hold of Kaitlyn’s hands and giving them a squeeze. “Don’t be afraid of me, please. I’m not scary, I’m not dangerous, I’m just… well, I’ll explain later.”

To her relief, Kaitlyn nodded and squeezed her hands in return. “I’ll look forward to hearin’ it all, and daenae worry—it takes a lot to scare me.” She cracked a smile. “Her Ladyship’s wrath is one thing that does, so we ought to get ye away to the Feastin’ Hall before steam starts comin’ out of her ears.”

The dinner was an even more enjoyable affair than Eloise could’ve imagined, though not because of Jackson. Lorraine had also invited Lennox to dine, and though he’d seemed wary of Eloise at first, a few cups of spiced wine had turned him into the nominated jester for the evening.

“Och, after that, I never drank and rode me horse again!” Lennox cried out the punchline to a long-winded tale about too much ale and a night-time ride to the loch. “There I was, just danglin’ in a tree, fast asleep. Me stomach was bruised for weeks after!”

Lorraine collapsed in a fit of giggles, as Eloise wiped away the amused tears that spilled down her cheeks. She’d had a few too many cups of spiced wine as well, but she’d figured there was no harm in properly letting her hair down. What was the worst that could happen—Jackson would lock her in her room again? All the more reason to enjoy the night to its fullest.

“Ye’re lucky it dinnae harm yer reputation as a Man-at-Arms, bein’ found in such a position,” Jackson said drily, bringing the mood down.

Lennox waved the remark away. “I’d say it showed the men that their Man-at-Arms can endure anythin’, if he can sleep bent over a branch all night and walk it off in the mornin’.” He raised his cup excitedly. “Actually, I’ve got a couple of stories about ye that are nae too dissimilar. Shall I tell them the one about the sheep gettin’ out?”

“Ye’ll do nay such thing,” Jackson shot back.

Lennox grinned. “What about the oil barrels?”

“Say a word, and ye’ll spend the night hung over a branch again.” Jackson flashed a warning glare at Lennox, who sat back in his chair, defeated.

“I promise ye, His Lairdship has some good stories and a fine character, hidden behind the black clouds he carries around,” Lennox said, looking at Eloise with a reassuring smile. “He’s nae always so grim.”

Lorraine nodded. “When he was a bairn, he’d get himself into all sorts of scrapes and troubles. I remember him stealin’ the honey jar from the kitchens and takin’ it outside in the middle of summer. Sat there under a tree, scoopin’ out handfuls until he was covered in it. That’s when the flies and wasps came, and I could hear him shriekin’ from the castle. I ran out to see what was the matter, and I see this wee lad, stripped of all his clothes, bein’ chased by a swarm of wasps, smothered in honey!”

“Nan.” Jackson scowled, but it couldn’t hide the slight flush of pink in his cheeks. It matched the warmth in Eloise’s cheeks, as she tried to imagine what he would look like now, stripped of all his clothes and covered in honey. A sweet thing to behold, for sure.

“Well, if ye willnae tell tales of yer own,” Lorraine said, “we’ve got to do it for ye, or are ye determined to see how few words ye can say while ye’re sat at dinner with us? I’ve never kenned ye to be so sullen and silent, and I’ve seen ye at yer most sullen.”

Jackson scooped a hand through his tousled, red hair. “Are we nae supposed to be dinin’? When ye have dinner, ye eat, ye daenae turn it into a parade of how to get a rise out of the host.”

“And ye’re the host, are ye?” Lorraine snorted. “It’s nae wonder we rarely have gatherings, when ye’re so hospitable and charmin’.”

As the hall dipped back into a tense kind of silence, the spiced wine in Eloise’s veins decided it was time for her to make a speech. She’d have happily spent the rest of the evening laughing and joking and getting inspiration for her book with Lennox and Lorraine, but if Jackson was going to sit there and put a dampener on everything, it only seemed right to finish the dinner off with a bang.

Swaying slightly, Eloise stood and raised her cup. “I’d like to make a toast, if you’ll humor me for a minute.” She paused until the room stopped swimming. “I know I’ve not been here long and that my arrival is a bit… mysterious to you all, but you’ve all—most of you—made me feel welcome here, and for that I’m very grateful. This dinner has been the perfect end to my stay here, reminding me that, no matter where you go, there’ll always be kind people who’ll bring a smile to your face.”

“With that being said, I’ll be leaving this castle tomorrow morning, once the inevitable headache has gone away,” she continued. “I don’t want to cause any bother for any of you fine folks, so I’ll be off, never to darken your doorway again… with any luck. But I will remember you all, for a very long time, and, who knows, maybe you’ll appear in one of my books, one day. So, please raise your cups and accept my heartfelt thanks for all you’ve done to make me feel less… out of place.”

Jackson stood sharply, no cup in his hand. “I dinnae say ye could leave.”

“And I don’t need to ask for your permission.” Eloise took a pointed sip of her drink. “I’m not your prisoner, I don’t belong here, so if I want to leave, I will. And I’m doing it tomorrow. You said it yourself—if I’m going to leave, I should do it in the daylight.”

He slammed his palms down on the table, startling everyone. “Ye depart when I say ye can. We spoke of this already.”

“You’re not my Laird, Jackson. You have no hold over me, and no right to keep me from going back to where I came from,” Eloise insisted, her easy tone shifting to something much spikier. “I’m not from your clan, your country, your society, or even your… well, I’m just not from here, so there’s no reason for me to stay. I have to go back. I was always going back. There’s a lot I need to get done, and I’m running out of clean knickers.”

Jackson gestured to the Feasting Hall door. “As ye wandered into my territory, ye are under me rule, whether ye like it or nae, and ye will obey me command or ye’ll find yerself—”

“I’ll find myself what, Jackson?” she fired back, heated now. “There are always two options with you people—you’ll either throw me in the dungeons or you’ll burn me at the stake. Maybe, you’ll feed me to those hungry wolves as an exciting wild card option. But you don’t scare me, Jackson, and I need to go home.”

To punctuate her point, she pushed her chair back and stormed toward the door, noting the awkward expressions of Lennox and Lorraine. She felt bad for bringing them into her spat with Jackson, but it wouldn’t matter by tomorrow, when she’d be sucked back through the stone to 2016. She’d just be a blip in their memory, nothing more.

But you’ll all live on, as long as I can get Harriet to agree. I promise—all of you will live on.

Heading out into the hallway beyond, trying to remember if it was a left turn or a right turn to the staircase that led to her bedroom, she slowed to a confused pace.

Before she could get her bearings, a hard force slammed into her, pushing her back against the nearest wall. Jackson loomed over her, his hand gripping the back of her head so she wouldn’t hit it on the stone, his breath ragged and furious as he glared down at her and asked, “Are ye really so intent on gettin’ yerself killed in those woods? Do ye really want to be eaten by those wolves?”

“It’s the wolf in here that I’m most concerned about,” she panted, feeling the press of his hips against her stomach. “It’s you that’ll kill me if I stay.”

And if you don’t kiss me, right now, that might kill me, too.