CHAPTER TWO
Scotland, 1328
Bethany jumped away from the painting. She jerked her head toward the loud woman running at her and held up her hands. She backed away as the woman pushed closer, until her thighs bumped into one of the low tables.
"Do I know you?" Bethany asked.
The woman stopped abruptly, her head cocked to the side. The action sent her messy braid swinging to the right, more dark brown strands coming loose to hang around her face. Her brows bunched together above chocolate brown eyes and her thin lips puckered.
"Don't be pretending to not know your old maid, dearie. I know you've been gone over long, but you would never forget Bessie."
Bessie? It couldn't be! Bethany peered closer at the woman. Her eyes seemed familiar, though her body wasn't bent over a cane and she wasn't wearing the bright red wool. Instead, she wore a plain blue skirt that brushed the floor, a white linen shirt and a blue stomacher. Her body was thin but curvy, the tops of her breasts perched precariously above the gaping neckline.
"Saints alive, what are you wearing?" Bessie asked.
She moved forward and ran a finger down Bethany's thigh, gasping at the feel of her denim jeans. Her attention turned to the dark red cashmere sweater and her mouth fell open in awe.
"Wherever did you find such wool? Soft as a newborn's arse, I'd wager."
Bethany shook her head and opened her mouth to speak, but she was interrupted by a deep booming voice coming from the right stairs. She swiveled her head and caught sight of a giant. No, not a giant … her father. Clad in a clean white shirt and a plaid of green, black, and blue, he stood at the bottom of the stairs and stared. His hands fisted on his hips, a black scowl on his face, he dominated the room. So tall his head nearly touched the arch of the entry, his broad shoulders tapered to a wide chest and thick middle. His voice boomed again, shaking dust from the rafters above and sending Bethany's heart into her throat.
"What the devil goes on down here?"
Bessie beamed. "The lass has returned, laird."
Daegus took several long steps toward her until he stopped mere inches from where she stood. His hand shot out and grabbed her chin, lifting her face to the light. She frowned at him and swatted his hand. A look of surprise leapt into his dark brown eyes.
"Get your ogre hands off of me," Bethany said. She swatted his hand again, but it was pointless. She might as well try to push a tree.
His grip tightened on her chin and he smiled when she winced at the pressure. "My daughter would never speak to me thus. My daughter was a fine lass."
Bessie frowned up at the giant, her index finger wagging. "Now see here, this is the lass I tell you. Look at her eyes, here hair. She is the spitting image of your lady wife, Linore."
Daegus turned his cold eyes back to Bethany's face and she lifted her chin. She refused to show any kind of fear in the presence of this beast, father or not. He nodded once before his gaze traveled along the rest of her. She crossed her arms over her chest and tapped her foot.
"Are you finished staring?" she asked.
"What the hell are you wearing?" he asked, ignoring her question.
Bethany rolled her eyes and threw up her hands. "It would be pointless for me to try and explain the clothes of the twenty-first century. Instead, how about you take me somewhere to change."
Daegus threw back his head and laughed, a great booming sound that rattled her eyeballs in her head. His fists settled back on his hips and he inclined his head to Bessie.
"Take my daughter to her chamber. See that she bathes and is given the proper attire."
His eyes roamed her body again. "We might have to make do with her mother's clothing. All we have are gowns for a small child."
Bethany shivered. She didn't like the way he stared at her. It was the way a man looked when he wanted laid. She was grateful when Bessie took her elbow and led her to the steps on the left. The older woman chattered away as they climbed.
"I cannot believe you've returned after all this time. Where did you go, lass?"
Bethany tried to think of a good answer. These medieval people couldn't possibly understand the concept of time travel. Hell, no one really understood it. She decided the truth was her best option. If they thought she was insane, so be it.
"I traveled forward through time and landed in the twentieth century. I was three then. Now it's the twenty-first century … two thousand six to be exact."
Bethany halted on the steps, realizing she stood alone. She went down a few steps and spotted Bessie leaning against the wall, her hand on her heaving bosom. The woman's eyes were wide, her mouth gaping open like a dying fish.
Bethany sat her hand on the woman's shoulder and shook her gently. Bessie turned her gaze to Bethany's face and lowered her hand. Her mouth snapped closed and she straightened away from the wall. She smoothed her hands over her skirt and resumed her climb.
"It is an unbelievable tale, m'lady. I will not speak of it to your father, and neither should you."
"Why not?" Bethany asked. "If he asks where I've been, I can't lie."
Bessie stopped again and turned to face her, her expression grim. "If he hears such talk, he'll think you a witch. You'll be banished. You'd never find a suitable hus--"
"What?" Betahny asked. "A suitable what?"
Bessie shook her head and made her way down a narrow corridor. The last door on the right was open and the older woman walked ahead of her into the room. Bethany followed and made her way to the wide window on the far wall. Outside, the enormous loch stretched as far as she could see, the sun dipping beneath the calm water. The call of birds sounded as they settled down for their rest. Below her, in the courtyard, men dressed in nothing more than a plaid stood in tight groups as horses were led from the stables.
Inside the chamber, a large bed sat in the center of the room. The post at each corner decorated with writhing vines, the pattern duplicated on the tall headboard. A dark blue and green coverlet was draped over the bed and mounds of pillows had been stacked near the headboard.
Across from the bed, a small hearth held a glowing fire that warmed the room despite the sudden chill that ran up Bethany's spine. The only other furnishings were a small trunk at the foot of the bed and a low table adorned with a pitcher and small bowl.
"What am I supposed to wear?" Bethany asked.
Bessie smiled. "You stay right here. I'll fetch you some proper clothes. When I return, we'll go over what you should say to your father."
She disappeared before Bethany could tell her she wouldn't lie. As the door closed, she moved to the bed. She pushed her hands into the over-stuffed mattress before she flung herself across the bed. She was home! Really home.
She felt right. For the first time in her life, she felt like she was where she belonged. It would take some time to get used to the place, but she could manage. She sat up and hugged her knees to her chest. Maybe Bessie was right, maybe she should think of something else to tell Dae … her father. If she was accused of being a witch, they'd burn her. That wouldn't be pleasant at all.
The door flew open and Bessie hurried in, her arms overflowing with colorful fabric. Following behind her was the woman from the painting. Her mother. Her dark red hair spilled over her narrow shoulders and down to her waist. Dark green eyes, misty with unshed tears, watched Bethany closely as she arranged the gowns on the bed. Not overly tall and quite thick around the middle, her mother moved about with the grace of a Queen.
"Mama," Bethany whispered.
The woman flew across the room and pulled Bethany into her arms. Bethany hesitated for only a second before she closed her arms around her small mother. The faint scent of lavender drifted up from the shorter woman's hair as her soft sniffles reached Bethany's ears.
Pulling away, her mother wiped away her tears and smiled. "I'm so glad you've returned to us, poppet. Where have you been all this time?"
Bethany shot a glance to Bessie who avoided her eyes. So much for loyal servant. She searched her mind for an acceptable excuse for her absence and blurted the first thing that came to mind.
"I was abducted."
Both her mother and Bessie gasped. Bethany blushed and lowered her eyes. Good going, Beth. Now you'll have to think of a way to keep up the story without naming names. She didn't want to start a war.
"Tell me who took you, poppet," her mother said.
Bethany shook her head. "It is over now. I'd like to meet everyone as soon as I change my clothes."
Her mother looked like she wanted to say more, but nodded instead. She moved to stand beside Bessie and motioned to the gowns piled on the bed.
"These were mine in my younger days. You may have as many as you wish."
Bethany glanced over the gowns, her fingers reaching out to caress the delicate fabrics. She selected a dark red gown, a white gown, and an emerald green gown. She decided to wear the green.
She'd never worn a dress in her life, that she could remember, and figuring out how to put the damn thing on was going to be a trick. She unzipped her jeans and kicked them aside, pulled the sweater over her head and let it fall to the floor. She moved to unsnap her bra when she caught her mother's stare.
"What?" she asked.
Her mother pointed to her black lace bra. "What is that contraption?"
Bethany glanced down. She tapped her foot as her mind worked overtime to come up with an explanation. She didn't want to dwell on the life she had before. In fact, as soon as she changed she would burn the clothes and never look back.
"My captors used it to hide my breasts."
"The beasts," her mother said. "Did they harm you?"
Bethany shook her head and tossed the bra to the floor. Naked now, she picked up the green gown and pulled it over her head. The scrunched bodice ended just below her breasts, the square neckline not quite covering all of her. The shoulders drooped down her upper arms and the sleeves ended in wide bells past her fingers. The long skirt had been split up the center to reveal a lighter green material underneath.
Her mother moved behind her and quickly laced up the ribbons to cinch the bodice tighter and to push her breasts nearly to her chin. She made a strangled noice that brought odd stares from both women.
"What is it, dearie?" Bessie asked.
Bethany flattened her hands over her abdomen and blushed again. "I can barely see over my tits."
Bethany heard her mother snort behind her. "How else will you capture a husband?"
"A husband?" Bethany squeaked. "I don't want a husband. I'm only twenty-five."
Her mother finished with the laces and stepped away. "I know, poppet. Many women your age have four or five bairns clinging to their skirts."
Her mother's eyes lit up and her hands rose to her cheeks. Bethany watched her warily, afraid of what new idea had just popped into her medieval mind.
"Perhaps we can still hand you off to the McKenzie lad."
Bessie snorted and folded her arms. "I'd rather see the lass wed to an Englishman than to that randy stallion. He'd likely include her in his wicked games."
Bethany's ears perked up. Back in her time, she'd been accused of breaking up many happy homes. It wasn't true, of course, but she'd thought about it.
"What kind of wicked games?" Bethany asked.
"Those things are not fit for a maid's ears," her mother said. "And shame on you for bringing it up," she added for Bessie.
Bethany pouted. She wanted to know who this McKenzie was and what kind of games he liked. It had been nearly a year since her last boyfriend and her body ached. She even started touching herself when the nights became unbearable.
"I think the McKenzie lad is a fine choice for husband," her mother continued. "He's wealthy, respected, and honorable. Aye, he'll do."
Bethany shook her head again. "I don't want a husband."
Maybe a little fling with this McKenzie, just to find out what his games were all about. But she'd be damned if she'd be forced to get married. She was a grown woman, after all. It just wasn't going to happen.
***
It actually happened.
That night, seated between two of her five brothers, her father declared that she would wed Blaise McKenzie in one month. She couldn't believe her ears. And all five of her brothers grinned like idiots. She glared at each one of them before turning her attention to the glazed pig on her trencher.
"You shouldn't be frightened, sister dear," her oldest brother Geoff whispered in her ear. "It's rumored the Dark Laird cannot keep the same woman in his bed for more than a sennight. He'll tire of you soon."
Her head snapped up. If she was going to be forced into marrying this guy, the Dark Laird, there sure as hell wouldn't be any other women lurking around. She tossed her dagger down and folded her hands in her lap. She wanted to scream. I changed my mind. I want to go back.
Her father's booming voice reached her ears. "We shall welcome the McKenzie into our midst so he may become acquainted with my daughter. He is to be watched at all times."
Bethany tilted her head. Watched? Was her family sending her to the enemy? She leaned closer to her brother and tugged his sleeve.
"Why will he be watched?" she whispered.
Roger was only three years older than her, but his eyes would have him be much older. A dull and lifeless shade of brown, they crinkled at the corners from his constant frowning. He leaned down to her and pursed his lips.
"Your intended slaughtered twelve of our cattle not more than three days ago. He is not well liked around here."
Bethany rolled her eyes. "He isn't liked because of twelve cows? Give me a break. Is that all?"
Her brother pulled back, a look of confusion on his face. "You speak strangely. But no, that is not all. His men have led countless raids against us, slaughtered our animals and our people. He even had the nerve to claim father hid you away from him all these years."
"Hid me away?"
"Aye. You were betrothed to him when you were but three. At the time, father thought it best, considering his land borders ours to the north. When you disappeared, the McKenzie rose in with an army demanding you be returned."
Bethany rubbed her temples. "Why did he want me so badly? I'm sure he had his choice of sluts."
"Sluts? I know not this word."
She sighed. "Loose women," she explained.
"Ah yes, that he does. He only wanted you for the land. Father promised him the northern edge of our land as your dowry. The bastard's been coveting that land since his father died."
Bethany finally understood. He didn't want her to be his wife, he wanted her for nothing more than to get his greedy hands on her father's land. She might be forced to marry him, but she'd make him regret it.
"When does the bastard arrive?"
The question was shouted from a lower table. One of her father's soldiers, no doubt. A round of laughter followed the question and her father waited until the noise died down before he answered.
"Within the hour."
Bethany gasped. She hadn't expected him so soon. What did she say to a man that, by her time, should be long dead? Hey there. How about those Buckeyes? She rolled her eyes at her own sarcasm. She wouldn't say anything to him. She'd hide away until the bastard left. Other women? Not a chance in hell. Hiding wasn't an option.
A loud bang snapped her out of her thoughts as the double doors were flung open. On the landing stood the man she despised. The man she hated. The man she dreamed about for years. Her mouth went dry.
He had to be at least six and a half feet tall, with muscles football players would be jealous of. His dark black hair hung over his shoulders and down his back, shorter pieces hanging just below his eyes. And those eyes! Ice blue and hard as steel, they searched the room like a hunter looks for prey. He made his way into the great hall, swaggering like a cocky rooster in a henhouse. Why shouldn't he? The kitchen maids tripped over their skirts, and each other, to get a better look at him.
Bethany stared at him as he slowly made his way toward her. With every step he took, his muscles bunched and rippled under his clothes. Unlike her father and brothers, he didn't wear a plaid. He wore tight black breeches and a black shirt. The clothes left very little to the imagination.
He stopped just before the raised table and inclined his head politely. When those blue eyes fastened on her, a slow grin spread across his face. He reminded her of a cat that just swallowed the canary. She shifted in her seat, painfully aware of the throbbing between her thighs. Her breasts heaved against the tight material of the bodice and her nipples peaked under his intense stare. She knew he could see them. She didn't care.
When his tongue appeared briefly to moisten those too full lips of his, the throbbing increased between her legs. She wanted desperately to be touched, by herself or the devil causing this reaction.
"Greetings, my beauty," he purred. "I am pleased to finally make your acquaintance."
His voice was deep and gritty, like he'd swallowed sand. It poured over her like a caress. The sound of it brought very vivid, very dirty images to mind. Images she'd see played out as soon as she could get him alone. She licked her lips and grinned back at him.
"We'll see about that."
