A Laird for All Time (3 page)

Duart Castle

The Isle of Mull, Scotland

October 1895

Emmy didn’t even flinch as the door slammed shut behind Connor as he stormed out of the room following her remark.  She was stunned as well by her answer.  Yet it felt right.  The minute she had seen him – before she’d concluded he was simply mad, that is – her first thoughts had been of wishing for a man like that to be hers.  It was the feeling of romance novels and fairy tales, well adult fairy tales.  It wasn’t real.  It wasn’t typical, normal or usual. 

In one of her favorite
romantic comedies,
French Kiss
, when Meg Ryan’s Kate and Kevin Kline’s Luc finally kiss at the end, there is this moment when his hands clench into fists on the back of her dress as if he couldn’t hold her tight enough, close enough or long enough. 

In Emmy’s mind that moment was probably one of the most romantic, passionate
kisses she had ever seen.  Definitely top ten.  She wanted to be
wanted
like that.  She wanted to be in the arms of a man where an embrace wasn’t enough, where he wanted so much more from her. Emmy wanted a man who would hold her as if he wanted to become one with her.  Be one with her.  She had always dreamed of being wanted with that intensity. 

Yet, i
f she were honest with herself, Emmy would have admitted that she never expected that she would feel like that in her entire life.  It certainly wasn’t a feeling she imagined having within fifteen minutes of meeting a man… especially one she considered completely nuts.  She had never felt lust that overwhelmed the senses and brought irrational thoughts and impulses to mind.  She believed strong physical attraction was normally the result of getting to know a man.  In her romantic experience, a good sense of humor was the most powerful attractor she had ever come across. 

With this laird, Connor, she wanted more than anything just to feel those strong arms wrapped around her, holding her tightly with all the desperation and desire she had seen in his eyes.
  More than anything, she knew that one kiss with him would be the most memorable experience of her life.

“Ohh!” she moaned, burying her head in her hands once again.  “What I am doing?  I am such a nitwit!”

“I would probably have to
agree on that point,” Dorcas volunteered as she poured herself yet another cup of tea while Ian slipped out of the room after Connor.  “You shouldn’t have said that to him.  Now he’ll be a horrific boar for days and days.  Not that he is ever in good humor, mind you.  You’ve only made it worse.  More tea?”

“You should really back off on that stuff.  That much caffeine isn’t good for you
.” Emmy commented as she slouched back in her chair and sipped her own iced tea. 

Not even realizing
the other woman was repeating “caffeine?” to her even as she glowered at Emmy’s posture, Emmy muttered to herself.  “What am I supposed to do now?  I’m sure I missed the ferry back to Oban by now.”

“You should really sit up properly
.  Your posture is simply atrocious,” Dorcas scolded as if she couldn’t help herself, earning a glare in return from Emmy. 

“You said that already,” Emmy told her.

“Then you must accept it as fact.”  Dory pursed her lips and considered Emmy thoughtfully.  “In truth, I am most curious how you arrived here today.  There was no ferry from Oban today and Connor noted there was no carriage on the road when you arrived here.  Did you walk from Craignure then?  It is a long distance.”

“I didn’t walk.  I took the
shuttle.”  Emmy said, though she knew the words would make no sense to Dorcas, as she rubbed her hand over her face as if she could massage this all away.  “I’m not sure where it went either.  Ugh, this is crazy!  Like a bad dream!”

“Well, it is late
.  Perhaps after a night’s rest everything will be clearer.  Don’t worry - as long as Connor believes you are Heather, you will have a place to stay at least,” Dory offered, patting her hand.

That got Emmy’s attention.  “What do you mean ‘as long as Connor
believes’?  Don’t you believe think I’m this Heather person?”

Dorcas
’s eyes narrowed on Emmy and she questioned in return.  “Don’t you think I would know my own twin, no matter how long she’d been gone?”

“So y
ou know I’m not her.”

Dorcas
nodded. “You are not.”

“What makes you so sure?  And why didn’t you tell Connor that?”

“The Heather I knew would never come back to Duart.  She disliked Connor on sight and had absolutely no intention of marrying him.  She was unable to stop the wedding but ran away while he waited for her to ready herself for his bed.  She would be a fool to come back after this time, and she was no fool.”  Dorcas sipped and regarded Emmy curiously.  “And I did not tell him so, not only because he would not believe it no matter how vehemently I assured him it was so, but also because I am curious who you truly are.  Moreover, what reason you have for coming here now, today of all days?  Can you answer that?”

“I’m af
raid I can’t do that just yet,” was Emmy’s truthful confession.

“Well, Connor will be expecting you to stay until you can, so we might as well see you settled in.
”  Dorcas heaved herself from the settee belly first and preceded her to the door, motioning for her to follow.  “Since you had no other bags with you I will lend you some suitable clothing.  But it is late and such things can be accomplished in the morning.”

“Bags?  I ha
ve bags!  They are safe in my hotel room across the sound.” Emmy made a little rowing motion with her hands.  “Safely back in the twenty-first…” she clamped her mouth shut quickly.  “Any clothes you can offer would be appreciated, I guess.  At least I have my toothbrush.”

Dorcas led the way back up the stairs and through a labyrinth of hallways to the room where Emmy had been before.  Reaching up inside the door, she twisted the knob on a large wall sconce and a small flame grew in the globe, lighting the room with a warm glow.  “Gaslights?” Emmy asked.

“Aye, all the main
and family rooms are lit and a very nice convenience it is.  Since the MacLean clan regained possession of the lands and castle, the laird has been doing much to restore the castle as his father, the first Connor MacLean had before him.”

“The room is lovely,” Emmy offer
ed. It was, in fact.  Probably a classic example of Victorian décor.  The bed was a large four-post bed but the posts, headboard and footboard were all intricately carved in scrolling floral motifs.  The bedding and curtains were a lovely lilac gray silk, though more frilly and lacy than Emmy tended to like things.  There was a dressing table and pair of delicate, upholstered chairs near the fire.  Overall, it was aesthetically pleasing.

Dorcas
, however, offered a short snort.  “You should have seen this place ten years ago.  It was a near ruin and almost uninhabitable.  It truly is a transformation! Your dressing room is through there.” Dorcas pointed out another door farther along the wall.  “I will have my maid bring you a nightgown now and other clothing in the morning as well as a few gowns to choose from.”

“Gowns?”  Now Emmy was the one repeating words. 

“Aye, we dress for dinner and you will be expected to join us tomorrow evening.”

“
If I’m still here,” she murmured under her breath, then shrugged.  “Well, I haven’t worn a ‘gown’ since I went to the Sigma Chi Sweetheart Ball in college.”  Emmy chuckled with rueful humor.  “It’ll be just like prom night.”

Dorcas again looked puzzled by the mysterious words, but simply shook her head.  “
The American way of speaking you’ve adopted is most strange.  The bell pull is over there next to the bed.  I will assign a maid to aid you.  Breakfast is served until eleven in the morning.  I would advise that you do not attempt to flee into the night.  That would only serve to upset the laird more.”

“I have nowhere else to go,” Emmy answered honestly.  Truly she was stuck here until
she could find a way back to the ferry, to her hotel… to her own time.

Once Dorcas had gone, Emmy noticed another door next to the dressing room door that Dorcas had pointed out to her.  The door led to a large bathroom with a sink, commode and claw foot tub, all looking terribly Victorian, historic and, thankfully, familiar.  At least she wasn’t going to have to use an outhouse, chamber pot
, or any other equally awkward or distasteful substitute. 

Emmy strip
ped down to her camisole and panties, found her toothbrush in her tote and made use of the quaint bathroom.  After trying the chain pull on the toilet several times, she washed her face, brushed her long hair and put it in a ponytail.  A maid brought her a long, conservative nightgown, which she donned over her underclothes. She turned to see the maid watching her with curiosity. When the girl realized Emmy had caught her staring, she flushed and drew back the bedclothes for Emmy to get in.  Once Emmy was settled, the maid left, turning down the light as she went.  Emmy snuggled down in the deep feather mattress and warm comforters, thanked God for the warm flannel nightgown and tried to plan her departure.  But thoughts of escape were not what came to her mind.  Instead, visions of the laird filled her consciousness.

This man, this laird, Connor MacLean, was unlike any man she had met before.  He was raw masculinity, not just in his bulging muscles and rough handsomeness,
but also in his demeanor.  He was a ruler and not in a tidy corporate CEO kind of way.  It was powerful and magnetic.  Emmy was fairly certain that he did not have a feminine side let alone one that he was in touch with, but just the same, his dominating persona was fascinating.

“Connor,” she whispered
, imagining him sweeping her into his arms.  “Why would any woman want to leave you?” she wondered aloud.  If he engendered feelings such as these in most females, he must be constantly surrounded by women.  Of course, it was possible that he was a serious asshole or something.  Possible?  Likely?  She wasn’t sure.

Trying to focus on the negative, Emmy again found herself wondering about the other possibilities Connor represented.  “Ugh!” she moaned
, burying her head in the pillow.  “I will never again go five years without sex if this is how the first hot guy I see affects me!” she promised herself and, lulled into a fitful sleep by the sound of rain and thunder from outside, she slid into a night of erotic dreams.

Connor leaned against the door that connected his chambers with the room where Heather now slept.  The earl’s suite.  He wasn’t sure why he had brought her to those rooms earlier, the countess’s chambers.  What had possessed him to open them up again other than the fact that she had come back?  But he had, and just knowing that a mere door separated them was driving him mad.

He
could not remember wanting Heather so badly before.  When he had first met Heather, she had just arrived at Duart for their wedding.  It was arranged, of course.  The wish of his father and hers.  Heather had seemed dismayed by him upon their introduction, though he had never known why.  She had been pretty, but shy and haughty.  He had felt no great desire for her; only resolve to have the thing done.  He had spent a day with her, giving her a tour of the castle.  It had been a near ruin at that time; the restoration his father had planned was still in its early stages.  She had been distressed with her future home as well.  She had been withdrawn, but her silence oozed criticism and disdain of everything at Duart, including him.  The next day, he had stood with her before the altar and said his vows, knowing it made her as miserable as it did himself.

And then she had been gone. 

Now she had returned.  It was if she had become a different person in the intervening years.  Of course, she had been just a girl then, not the woman she was now.  Time had served her well.  Her appeal, and the attraction he felt for her now, were strong - stronger than any he could remember ever experiencing in his life.  He desired her.  No, he simply wanted her.  What she had said downstairs tore through him again.  She had come back to be with him.  Why?  Why now?  On this day?  The questions stopped him.  Held him. He could open this door now and demand his rights as the husband everyone thought him to be.  Complete what had not been consummated before.  Gain relief from the lust that held him in its thrall. 

But he knew what held him back. 

He needed to talk to her but he also needed to talk to his solicitor.  Only his solicitor, Conrad Baines, was aware that Connor had had this marriage annulled two years ago.  Only Mr. Baines knew the woman next door was in fact, no longer his wife in truth or under law.  He didn’t know why he had lied to her, other than pure rage at her appearance.  Perhaps it had been curiosity over her arrival or… something else.  He didn’t know what it was but it served him, for now, to have her think of him as her husband.

Emmy woke early the next morning and stretched out muscles left tight from sleeping on the soft mattress.  Bright sunshine poured through the tiny windows of the outer embattlements facing the east.  Years of residency had trained her to get her sleep when she could and to function on very little of it.  By habit and training, she was a light sleeper and early riser.  She lay there for a moment, warm and cozy in the cocoon of the feather bed, although the nip on her cheeks suggested the air in the room was much colder.

Emmy
rose and quickly dressed in her clothes from the previous day.  She made quick use of the bathroom, brushing her teeth, and washing her face with the bar of harsh soap. She twisted her hair up in a claw clip and was soon slipping out the door. None of the others were awake or perhaps it all been a dream, she thought as she crept down the hall from her room without seeing another soul.  Maybe the vision of Connor on horseback had been a hallucination from which she was only just now recovering and the rest merely a bizarre, stress-induced dream.  It could now be 2010 as it should be and she was here at Duart on vacation…

A maid in a long
gray, Victorian dress, white apron and cap on her Grecian knot crossed the hall carrying an armload of linens. Her appearance shattered Emmy’s sudden hopes and she knew that the ‘dream’ was indeed reality.

What to do? 
The never-ending question again pounded in her mind like the beating of a drum.  Duart, she thought.  1895.  She still had no real idea how it had happened beyond her initial speculation that it had to be a government experiment gone wrong.  Coping with her circumstances was top priority. 

Logically she knew she should pretend to be this Heather MacLean as long as she could get away with it.  She was lost in time.  If she fought the battle and the laird accepted that she wasn’t his wife, she would be left without a place to stay or food to eat.  That was something she could not afford to happen
, especially with winter fast approaching.  Of course, she also had no money to support herself in this time. The pounds and pence she had in her purse would only draw suspicion that Emmy wasn’t prepared to defend against. 

She needed to figure out how to get back but wasn’t sure where to start.  In the meantime she would do what she had to
, even if it meant deceiving the entire castle.  Better that than the nightmare of burning at the stake.

Emmy
started to tiptoe toward the stairs before she shook her head for being such a ninny.  Was she truly trying to sneak around this castle?  It was so big her chances of meeting another person were pretty slim.  Straightening up, Emmy strode more confidently, taking in the décor of the castle as she went. 

The halls were paneled in intricately carved rosewood with lovely, fragile sconces lighting the hall at intervals.  Plush carpet runners padded the wood floor and
oil paintings in ornate frames hung on the walls.  The staircase was another example of fine woodworking with its hand-carved spindles and elaborate newel posts. The hall below was lit by an enormous chandelier that bounced light off the polished marble floors.

It was all very
extraordinary and indicated a wealth that boggled Emmy’s mind.  And, oddly, it all looked brand new as if it had just been completed.  Emmy knew the MacLeans had only returned to Duart in the past twenty years from this historic date, having recovered the castle after centuries.  Duart had been a near ruin on its recovery by the clan; she knew that much from her guidebook, but now she wondered to what extent it had been rebuilt.  Perhaps she would find the courage to ask Connor.

Emmy
opened the massive front door, slipping silently into the misty Scottish morning.  The rising sun on the other side of the castle cast long shadows over the courtyard and outer walls. The castle itself was a thick U shape.  The central section she exited from reached out with two deep wings on either side.  On one side the building was five stories high.  The rear and opposite side were only three, and the top end of the U the wings created was closed by a tall defensible wall with only an ornamental iron gate leading to the entrance she’d arrived at the day before. 

She hadn’t seen t
his enclosed courtyard before. She must have been carried through it the previous day after fainting outside the front gates.  That open area might have been used in the past for the castle soldiers to train in or for work to be done.  Today it consisted of a tidy network of pathways and low shrubbery with an impressive stone fountain at its center.  Not complicated, but rather sparse overall.  Compared with the lush gardens she had seen over the course of her vacation, Emmy appreciated its simple elegance.

Emmy clutched her blazer around her
, crossing her arms against the morning chill.  The ground was damp after the storms of the previous evening.  It squished beneath her feet as she walked across the paths and through the heavy gate, the only exit from the entire castle she had found so far.  She went down a series of stone steps to the drive where the bus had dropped her off the previous afternoon.  She paused and turned to look up at the castle, the walls dark in the shadows of the early morning.  It looked nothing like it had when she arrived yesterday!  Pacing back and forth, she wondered if being in the right spot would whisk her back across the 115 years into the future – perhaps there was an invisible portal or something.  She glanced toward the gates and back up at the keep, still shadowed by the castle. 

Nothing.

She found another spot and looked around again. 

Nothing.

“Well, hell,” she muttered at her failure to be whisked away back to her own time. She stared blankly out over the rugged countryside.  Obviously it wasn’t going to be that easy. 

To her right stood the stables in place of
the dumpster that had been there the previous day. Flipping a mental coin, Emmy went left and rounded the northern corner of the building, coming quickly to an abrupt drop-off at the cliffs, which backed the castle.  The castle jutted straight up from those rocky crags, overlooking the Sound of Mull and the mainland of Scotland beyond.  Perfectly built for defense.

O
nly half interested in the architecture, Emmy stared out over the white-tipped wavelets and considered her situation with a clear mind, not one clouded by the distraction that Connor MacLean had presented the previous evening.  Surely something would get her home.  Maybe a repeat of her movements at the same time and place would do the trick.  It had been nearing sunset when she arrived – perhaps she should try again in the afternoon. Perhaps there was a wormhole that appeared regularly at that spot – assuming this was a random phenomenon and not a government accident of sorts.  There was something she remembered – maybe from
Star Trek
– that a time portal or wormhole might not appear in the same place twice.  Perhaps being in the same spot wouldn’t work.  Wasn’t that how
Voyager
got stuck out in the Delta Quadrant? Maybe not.  Emmy couldn’t remember.  She loved a good sci-fi movie but they tended to blur together after a while.  Plus, she wasn’t sure how the science translated into reality… if it did at all.  That’s why it was called science
fiction
.  As for reality, she could remember nothing about Einstein’s theories on the whole mess.  What if there was nothing she could do?  Emmy had never been good at waiting for others to fix problems for her.  She was more proactive than that.

She
leaned over the edge of the drop-off and stared down.  It was not a cliff so much as an extremely steep hill with sharp, angular rocks jutting out from it now and then.  And it ended not at the water but rather at a plain that angled out to the water. That beach of sorts was rocky and harsh. No plant life softened this landscape.  It was lovely. She raised a hand to shade her eyes against the morning sun.  The sun glistened and glinted off the rough waters left over from the night’s storms as they splashed and hit the rocks far below.  The roar of the waves was louder here filling her ears with their crash and growl.  It was violent and terrific.  Awe-inspiring, just as she had hoped it would be.

“It’s phenomenal,” she whispered
in wonder.

“Ye were once afraid to come out here,” came that deep, delicious voice from behind her.  Emmy jumped just a bit in surprise and Connor caught her arm to steady her.  “Careful now, ye dinnae want to fall over the edge.  Or were ye planning to jump?  ‘Tis nae far enough to kill, I think, but ye could do yerself some damage.”

“I would think you’d be glad to see me go.” 
Memories of the previous night’s dream-disturbed sleep assailed her once again as the heat of his hand seared through her jacket and warmed her arm.  One touch, she couldn’t believe it.  One impersonal touch and she was quivering in her boots with desire.  Emmy pulled her arm away and he let her go, crossing his arms across his broad chest.  “How did you know I was out here?” she asked tightly.

“My rooms overlook the
courtyard and this side of the castle,” he jerked his head back toward the keep.  “I saw ye come out and decided to make sure ye werenae out to kill yourself.” Connor had been dressing near the window when he saw her pass, her manly stride so visible in the tight trousers she wore.  Her garb was mannish and inappropriate, but he acknowledged that she looked lovely this morning in spite of her unconventional attire. Tendrils of hair had escaped their loose knot and danced across cheeks bitten rosy by the brisk October winds.  He fought the urge to cup her face in his hands to warm them. 

“Believe me, buddy,” she
said, taking in his trousers and half buttoned shirt.  “This whole situation isn’t that bad yet.” She wondered if he had dressed in a hurry to come save her from herself. “It’ll take a lot more before I’m ready to off myself.  How ‘bout you though?  You look pretty rough,” she couldn’t resist adding as she cast a critical glance at him, noting the bags under his eyes and bloodshot eyes.  “Nursing a hangover?”

“Hangover?” he
raised an eyebrow.

“You know?  Hit the bottle a bit hard last night and are regretting the result?”

“Dinnae gi’ yerself the credit for any such condition.  It had been my plan for the evening long before ye arrived,” he told her coldly with a curl of his lip at the reminder of his annual observance of his greatest humiliation. “I saw nae reason to change my plans simply because ye were here.”

“Ouch,” she said lightly.  So her arrival
, or the arrival of his wife, as he thought she was, had not prompted a night in the cups.  He had been planning on it anyway.  Interesting yet sad that Connor seemed to have allowed the woman who had abandoned him all those years before to still hold such control over his life.  It softened her a bit toward him and, changing the subject, she offered pleasantly:  “Actually, I just came out for the view.  I’ve always loved stuff like this.  Waves crashing, thunderstorms, lightning, that sort of thing.  Nature at its most violent and beautiful.” 

“As I recall, ye
once expressed a fright of those same things,” he commented.

Emmy sighed and
wondered if she could really do as Dory suggested and ride out this mistaken identity thing.  Connor obviously thought of her as his missing wife and there was nothing she could say that was going to change his mind on that point.  The laird was dug deeply into his beliefs and even Dory didn’t even believe that her word was going to change his mind until it suited him to do so.  She forced herself to recall that she just needed to go with the flow as Dory had said.  After all, she needed a place to stay until she figured out how to get back home.  Surely somewhere someone was working on the fix for it.  She shivered at the passing thought that perhaps no one knew what was going on.

“Come, ye
’re cold,” he offered his arm gallantly to her. “Come inside and breakfast wi’ me.”

Emmy took
the arm he held out to her but, when her hand touched the bare skin of his forearm, a delicious shudder rocketed through her and she withdrew with a start. How was she to do this if his slightest touch had this effect on her?  Connor had jerked away as well, confirming her suspicion that it affected him equally.  She shoved her hands as far as she could into her blazer’s tiny pockets and stared up at the side of the looming castle, aware that he had pocketed his hands as well.  They began to walk back to the gates side by side.  Connor opened the heavy gate and bowed, indicating with a sweeping arm that she should precede him into the courtyard.

“I’ll have to bring my camera out later when the
sun is higher and take some pictures,” she offered by way of light conversation as she walked through. 

“Ye
own yer own camera?” Connor asked incredulously, stopping to stare down at her upturned face, her eyes mirroring his own surprise.  Why should
she
gaze at him with such confusion? he wondered.  He knew of no one save the photographer in Inverary across the sound who owned their own camera.  “Are ye a photographer then?”

“Only as a hobby.”

“Ye must ha’ done verra well for yerself in America to own such a thing.  Did ye marry a rich man?”

“I’m not married,” she replied.

“Are ye nae?” he questioned softly, the irony in the question apparent.