Highlander's Challenge (7 page)

Highlander's Challenge

by Jo Barrett

The woman's soft honey eyes glittered with warmth. "He's my nephew, the dear."

Dear?
"Right. And he's been gone a while, I take it."

"Aye, nearly six months. I expect they'll have many an adventurous tale to tell." Elspeth shook her head with a small grin.

"I'll bet," Tuck muttered, holding back her snicker. Their stories would likely rival the ones her old army buddies used to tell. There'd be so much exaggeration, they couldn't be believed.

And his claymore was—this—big
. She cleared the chuckle from her throat. Making stupid jokes wouldn't get her back where she belonged.

She glanced at her watch then discretely slipped it back under her sleeve. "What's the date? I lost track of time on my, uh, travels."

"'Tis the twentieth of March. Have you been journeying long?"

"Yeah, you could say that. Um, and the year?" Elspeth stopped in front of a chamber door and lifted a worried gaze to hers. "You poor lamb. I knew it the first moment I laid my eyes upon you. How long has it been since you've had a place tae call home?"

Tuck cleared her throat, surprised by the small lump that formed from the genuine sincerity glittering in the older woman's eyes. She'd never had a real home, not one worth remembering, anyway. "A while. The year, Elspeth. What is it?"

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She shook her head with a soft frown. "'Tis fifteen hundred and eighty-four."

Tuck swallowed the panic rising in her throat as waves of dread roiled through her. If she were crazy, why would she choose that specific year? Had her subconscious plucked it out of one of the tour guides' talks? Even if it did, how would that explain the names of these people? Sure MacLean was an easy pick, but Elspeth, Maighread, and what about the Englishman, Ian Southernland? She knew she'd never heard them before. And her watch. If they were a reenactment group gone schizoid, then why did her watch have the supposedly correct date? All except the year? If she'd been knocked out, they could've tampered with watch. But why?

Unless ... the computer chip couldn't calculate before 1900.

Elspeth grasped her gently by the arms. "Are you ill? Can I get you something? Ach, dear me. Should I call for Colin?" Tuck nearly leapt from her arms. "No! I mean, no thanks. I'll be okay. I just hadn't realized that I'd been on the road for so long."
For more than four hundred years.
No, it wasn't possible, and yet the evidence continued to pile around her.

"Aye, perhaps a wee rest will do you good," Elspeth said as she ushered her inside the chamber.

Tuck scanned the room, missing nothing. A heavy curtained bed with an embroidered cover faced a fireplace. Several pegs dotted one wall while the other walls were covered with woven rugs and small tapestries. A pair of chairs 62

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flanked the hearth and alongside one sat a small chest with Celtic inscriptions decorating the top.

Sunlight streamed in through the window, distorted by the glazed glass, and danced on the rough wooden floor. The planks creaked as she crossed the room to look outside while Elspeth started a small fire in the hearth. The room faced inland, and she could see for miles. The landscape was not the same one she and Jenny had traveled. No paved road, no modern houses, no sign of anything familiar, but she was on the Isle of Mull. There was no mistaking the mountains in the distance.

Her eyes shot to the sky and the soft wispy clouds, not a single jet vapor trail. In the woods, a faint sign of spring touched the trees. It wasn't June. Her watch hadn't been tampered with.

Tuck's shoulders slumped with the weight of the facts before her. She was not where—when she belonged, and she had no idea how she got here.

The sound of hinges squeaking brought her attention back to Elspeth. The woman pulled a skirt of dark burgundy, a cream colored bodice, and a few other items from a large chest sitting in the far corner near the door.

"I think this will suit you. 'Twas my sister's." She eyed Tuck for a moment, then said, "Take off your waistcoat and let me have a look at you tae be sure." Acting on the side of caution, Tuck turned her back. As quietly as possible, she unzipped her down vest, not wanting to frighten the woman.

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Holding the vest over one arm, she faced Elspeth once again.

"Aye, 'twill suit you fine. You are about the same size. A big bonny lass, she was, just like you." Tuck snorted softly.
Bonny?
She'd been called a lot of things in her life, but that definitely wasn't one of them. Elspeth laid the items on the bed then moved to help her with the rest of her clothes.

"I think I can handle it," Tuck said. She may have managed to get out of her coat okay, but her blue jeans and sport bra were a different story. The way her luck was running, she'd send the woman running into the hills screaming she was a witch. Not a happy thought. Didn't they burn witches in the sixteenth century?

Elspeth's hands lingered on her cable knit sweater. "I have never seen such a fine weave. Did you craft it yourself?"

"Yeah, right," she said with a derisive chuckle. The older woman cocked her head, her dainty brows crinkled.

"I mean, no, I didn't. Look, I'm not exactly the kind of woman—what I mean is, where I'm from women don't weave and sew and stuff. Well, some do, but..." She sat on the edge of the bed and ran a hand over her face. "Look, I'm what you would call a soldier or warrior. I don't have any of the skills a normal woman would have." The truth left a bitter taste in her mouth.

Elspeth eased down on the bed beside her, the leather straps groaning with the added weight, and gently clasped her hand. She gazed into her eyes for several minutes, 64

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raising the hairs on the back of Tuck's neck. The few that weren't already snapped to attention.

A smile eased over the woman's round face. "Aye, you are different, and you have come from far away. With a bit of help from the fey folk, no doubt, but I dinnae ken what I'm seeing."

"Seeing?"

She laughed softly and patted her hand. "Dinnae fash yourself, lass. I have the gift of second sight. Not as strong as my sister's, but a gift nonetheless."

"Uh-huh." Tuck dropped her head into her chilled hands. She was losing it. She hadn't traveled back in time, and she wasn't sitting on an antique feather bed in sixteenth century Scotland talking about second sight and fey folk of all things.

"All will be well." Elspeth patted her shoulder as she rose.

"I'll have some water sent up so you can wash, then we'll leave you tae rest." She paused at the door. "What is your name, lass?"

"Amelia Tucker."

"Amelia. Aye, 'tis a fine name." Tuck spun around on the bed. "Elspeth?" The woman paused with one foot in the hallway. "Why doesn't my being different ... frighten you?" she asked with a small shrug. Elspeth smiled softly, oddly warming Tuck's insides. "I have seen many strange things in my years with both these eyes and with the sight. Things I dinnae understand. I have learned tae accept them since I canna change them. You have a good heart, Amelia, and a skill with healing. I have nothing tae fear from you, lass."

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First Jenny and now Elspeth. Tuck shook her head, thoroughly bewildered. How had she managed to find two women years apart both in age and centuries, who were capable of accepting the unexplainable so easily? She almost envied them. They wouldn't feel like their heads were about to split open trying to deal with the possibility of time travel.

"Rest a bit, lamb. Then we'll have supper tae welcome our Colin home." With that, the woman slipped out, pulling the door closed behind her.

"Oh, joy. Dinner with the beast. I can hardly wait," she said to the grey stone walls as she yanked her knit hat off her head, ignoring the slight increase in her pulse. Tuck eyed the pile of fabric lying beside her. Warily, she stuck out a finger and poked at the skirt and bodice.

"Fabulous. I'll look like a dinner theater refugee. One of the ugly stepsisters from Cinderella, no doubt." The door squeaked open and the same young girl who'd brought the medical supplies—well, the whiskey—to Ian's room, eased inside.

"I brought you some water. 'Tis warm," she said, scurrying to the fireplace, her voice quivering. With shaking hands, she filled a basin sitting on a small bench. "I also brought soap and a soft bit of cloth."

She laid the items down, then lifted her head and smiled tremulously. "Will you be needin' anything else?" Tuck shook her head, a little disappointed that she was obviously frightening the girl. "No. But thanks." With a nod, the girl hurried to the door, her skirt swishing around her ankles.

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"Wait a minute," she called.

The girl jerked to a halt and peered over her shoulder.

"Aye?" she squeaked.

"What's your name?"

"F-Fiona."

Tuck attempted a smile, which probably resembled more of a grimace, but it was worth a shot. She couldn't stand the fact that this kid was terrified of her. "I don't bite." Fiona's eyes widened.

She ran a hand over her face. "Christ. I mean I won't hurt you or anything. Understand? I'm just a visitor, a traveler." The girl nodded warily then rushed for the door. She chanced one last panic-filled glance at Tuck before pulling it closed.

"That went well," Tuck grumbled. What had she done to scare her so badly? Shaking off yet another mind numbing question, she stashed her phone and wallet in the little Celtic box by the chair then peeled out of her clothes. She quickly untied her knife sheath from her calf and wrapped it in her sweater for the moment. Somehow she'd have to conceal it beneath that thing Elspeth had laid out for her. She was not going anywhere without her only weapon. Moving closer to the fire, she slid out of her damp jeans and draped them over the back of the chair to dry then turned to the basin of water. She washed away the mud and grime, trying not to dwell on her situation. Shivering, she rubbed the back of her panties while standing in front of the fire, hoping to dry them before wriggling into her new duds.

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"Oh, the things we take for granted," she murmured.

* * * *

With his mind on other matters, Colin nearly plowed Elspeth down. Mostly on how badly he wanted to strangle Ian. Fight over that she-devil? The man was daft, no doubt about it.

"Where did you put the shrew?" he demanded. Her lips pursed as she splayed her hands on her ample hips. "I placed her in your mother's auld bedchamber, but I'll not have you upsetting her. She needs her rest. The poor lamb has had a bad time of it."

He growled deep and low. First his best friend sided with that female and now his aunt. That witch had turned a goodly portion of his life upside down in less than a day. She had to go.

"Aye, and she's not done with it." He pushed past Elspeth, ignoring her small huff of outrage.

"Colin MacLean, you'll be nice tae Amelia or you'll answer tae me," she called after him.

His steady gait faltered at the sound of the woman's name. The beauty of it didn't fit the harpy he knew, but he didn't let that deter him. He wanted her out of Arreyder Castle, off MacLean land, and as far away from him as possible. By sheer luck, she'd aided them that afternoon, but something deep down inside told him she would bring more trouble into his life than he cared to deal with.

Without a knock or word of warning, he threw open the chamber door and froze in his tracks.

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She stood before the fire. Miles of creamy fern-tickled skin filled his eyes. Slowly, he lowered his gaze to the pebbled peaks of her breasts straining against the odd fabric, then down her firm stomach to the patch of cloth barely covering her woman's mound.

His mouth went dry at the sight of her unexpected beauty. He'd never seen a woman so firm of flesh and yet unbelievably feminine at the same time.

"Are your eyes full yet?" she snapped. Colin jerked his attention to the heated green eyes glaring at him from beneath a wayward lock of red curls. At his continued silence, she cocked her head, barely brushing her shoulders with her unruly main.

His fingers, rough and callused, rubbed against one another, imagining the silkiness of her hair and the softness of her skin. His constricted throat prevented him from speaking. The only word his lips could form was Amelia, but he dare not put a voice to it. He knew if he should speak it, his control would slip. Something he could not allow to happen. Ever.

She stomped across the room to the bed and snatched up a frock. "Fine. Watch. I could care less. But close the door. I'm freezing my butt off."

Unable to tear his gaze away, his fingers flicked the door shut. As she turned, he noted several large bruises forming on her ribs and hip and felt a slight pang of concern before remembering that this was the woman who'd unhorsed him. His growing desire was temporarily squelched, although his curiosity was peaked. She had more than bruises and freckles 69

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on her body. A long jagged mark rose up over one pleasantly rounded hip, while another circular scar marred her left shoulder. But these were old wounds, long since healed, and now was not the time to question her about such things. Cursing softly, she struggled with the bodice laces, bringing a slight grin to his lips. By the look and sound of her, one would think she'd never worn skirts, which upon closer inspection could very well be the case. She didn't act like a woman nor talk like a woman, but if he kept staring at all that skin, his body was sure to prove that she was very much a woman.

His moment of humor disappeared with that thought. He had no time to get involved with this or any other female. He stomped up beside her, snatched the bodice from her hands, and tossed it back to the bed.