Chapter 10

Aveline smiled at the images in the flickering blue haze floating above her outstretched palms. She didn't care what the others said. She knew she was doing the right thing.

Brisk footsteps echoed in the hallway just outside the door of Mama's solar, making Aveline drop her hands to disrupt the spell.Her mother was already unhappy with her. She didn't need her questionable spell casting discovered.

As soon as the door burst open and Mama pinned her with a stormy scowl, Aveline knew she was in for an extended lecture the likes of which she had never endured before.She pulled in a deep breath and braced herself. The best course of action to survive the lecture would be to say as little as possible.

Her mother circled her, eyeing her while snorting exasperated little huffs that reminded Aveline of their Highland bull. She fully expected Mama to paw the ground at any moment. "Aveline—" Her mother's tone spoke volumes. "How often have we discussed the need to watch what we say regarding anything involving our mystical gifts?"

Taking care to keep her eyes downcast, Aveline chose words that wouldn't further stir her parent's wrath."I thought since Harley came from the future; she wouldn't be shocked by what I said.I hoped it would ease her into settling in."

Mama huffed another heavy sigh. "Just because Harley is from the year 2008, does not mean she is any more accepting of the supernatural than the people of this century.It's going to be difficult for her to fit into this time.And from what I've gathered, she was somewhat of a loner in her time and didn't rely on anyone but herself.In this era, very few women can pull that off with any success. Many have tried and not lived long enough to tell about it."

"But she doesna have to be alone," Aveline said. "All she has to do is accept Ronan. I know he'll be happy with her. I've seen it." She bit her lip and stifled a groan. She should not have said that.

Her mother stormed closer, shaking a finger in time with each clicking step."What have you seen?And what have I told you about practicing scrying without the protection of another in the room?"

Aveline backed away, wishing she'd kept her mouth shut as she'd planned. She had no choice now but to confess. One never lied to Mama. "I only took one quick look into the mists.Nothing came at me while I was there. I wanted to help them—to help Ronan—move along into what is meant to be."

"I have told you many times that the visions absolutely cannot be used to manipulate people."Mama's face flushed red with irritation as she paced the length of the room."You never know if what you see is to be, or what could be, and at what cost the action might cause.You could unknowingly cause your brother harm without understanding what lies just outside of the border of your vision.What if you sent him down a path to utter destruction because you didn't know the entire effect of what you put into play?Every action is like throwing a rock into a pond, the ripples travel far and touch unknown things."

Aveline swallowed hard, trying her best not to cry. What had she done? Panic, dread, and worry filled her, nearly choking off her air. Even though Mama had lectured her many times, she had never thought about her abilities that way. She would never do anything to cause Ronan harm or unhappiness.She only wanted him settled, so maybe he'd stay home more and not be constantly at sea.The keep was so lonely whenever he was gone.She missed his laughter. He left a void in their family that was so hard to bear.

"I am sorry, Mama," she whispered, staring down at the floor.But Goddess Brid help them all, it was too late for her actions to be undone.

Her mother pinched the bridge of her nose and wearily shook her head."What have you done, Aveline?Tell me everything so we can make sure nothing goes awry."

Still groggy with morning sleepiness,Harley became aware of someone moving around the room, their footsteps softly scuffling across the rugs, then lightly tapping whenever they happened across the exposed wood flooring.She opened her eyes to the narrowest slits and spotted an older woman setting a tray overloaded with covered plates on the table beside the hearth. At least it was someone safe creeping about the room. That made her breathe easier. She scooted herself upright against the headboard and hugged her knees. "Good morning," she said. The rich, buttery scent of warm baked goods filled the room, making her mouth water.

"Ah, ye be awake." The thin matron, her gray hair pulled back in a tidy bun, smiled and bobbed a curtsy. "Good morning to ye, mistress." She returned to preparing a plate. As she spoke, she waved a knife dripping with butter."My name is Ellen. I be the one to take care of ye whenever ye be needing a thing, and I am honored to have been asked to do so."

Harley eyed the lady, impressed by the efficiency with which she bustled about the room and conquered several tasks at once. But what did Ellen mean by taking care of her? She was neither an invalid nor a child.The MacKays needed to realize she was perfectly capable of taking care of herself. She eased out of bed and gave the lady a polite smile. "It's good to meet you, Ellen, and you can call me Harley." She arched a brow at the mountains of food stacked on the tray. "My goodness. Surely, all that isn't for me. You'll eat some too, I hope?"

"Oh, no, mistress." Ellen chuckled and shook her head while patting her trim waist. "This fine breakfast is all for yerself." She eyed Harley with a thorough once over. "They said ye were thin, and they nay lied. Why, ye are a mere shadow." She shook a finger at her. "Winter will be upon us soon. Ye'll be needing some meat on those bones to keep from freezing." Her henlike clucking at what she obviously felt was Harley's neglect of her health filled the room. "Why, yer waist is so small, I'll be needing to take in every dress by at least a full hand.And look at yer poor arms—thin as sticks, they are. For one so tall, ye are no bigger around than my wee granddaughter ofbarely ten and two."

"I am perfectly healthy and have been this size for years—no matter how much I eat."Her parents had often teased her about eating like a wolf but looking like a greyhound. Harley selected a steaming scone slathered in butter, placed it on a small plate, then settled into a cushioned chair, and curled her long legs under her. "My father used to tell me I was a panther in a past life and carried the lean, lanky look into this one."

Ellen paused and studied her again, tilting her head to one side as she nodded. "With those golden eyes of yers, ye do look a bit like the sleek lions on the tapestry in the main hall." She added another generous dollop of honey to a steaming cup."Yer tea, mistress." She set the cup and saucer on the table beside Harley's chair. "Once ye finish that scone, I'll dish ye up a fine bowl of parritch made all the richer by adding plenty of cream, butter, and honey. As I said, winter is coming, and I intend to add a bit of meat to those bones of yers. Cook and I willna have ye freezing on account of us."

A purr of contentment almost escaped Harley as the buttery scone melted on her tongue.Maybe she could allow herself to be taken care of for just a little while—at least until she got her bearings and learned the lay of the land.She sipped her tea and stifled a gag. "Wow." After smacking her lips, she ran her tongue across her teeth. The cloying sweetness of the tea was thick enough to slice. "Uhm…could you add a little more tea to this cup of honey? I appreciate your efforts and am thankful you're here, but it's a little too sweet."

Ellen huffed a disgruntled snort as she added a little more tea to the cup. It was quite apparent she considered the duty of increasing Harley's dress size her own personal quest. "Lady Rachel sent a dress for ye, and I gathered the underpinnings needed to go along with it. Yer dress, underthings, and slippers are behind the screen along with a pitcher of fresh water, linens, and soaps." She made a face. "Lady Rachel said ye would most likely wish to tend to yer own washing rather than be proper and allow me to do it." She shrugged. "Whatever ye wish, mistress."

"I would. Thank you." Harley preferred not to even think about Ellen scrubbing her down. After finishing her scone, she walked behind the screen and came up short at the wooden chair with a hole in the seat. Even though she knew what she would find, she peeped into the hole and wrinkled her nose at the sparkling clean chamber pot waiting on the shelf under it. Lovely. An indoor outhouse. She bit her lip, staring at the thing while her bladder insisted she get a move on and use the antique convenience.

It seemed like she peed forever. Which she decided was a good thing, because that would make for fewer visits to the wooden toilet. She tried not to think about what would happen when other business became necessary. More of the same, of course, but the fresh bag of large green leaves hung on the arm of the chair would leave a lot to be desired when it came to cleaning up after a number two. She shuddered to think of the ordeal her next menstrual cycle would entail.

"One battle at a time, Harley," she muttered under her breath. The pitcher held cold water. If she wasn't awake before, she was now. She gritted her teeth to keep them from chattering as she washed with what felt like ice water.

The stories were true. Castles in Scotland were indeed drafty. And perched on a cliff above the sea, Castle MacKay was not at all overly warm even though it was early summer. Or she assumed it was. It had been back in Kentucky, and what little she had seen of the land from the lookout tower had appeared green and teeming with life.

She didn't tarry with her ablutions, just warmed herself by briskly toweling dry, then turned and eyed the underpinnings. Ellen had stacked them on the small table beside the vibrant crimson dress hanging from a wooden peg hammered into the privacy screen.

"Nothing for the bottom half other than stockings," she said to herself, as she held up what appeared to be an antique bustier, a shapeless dress along the lines of a white cotton nightgown, a pair of stockings, and ribbons that she wasn't quite sure how to use. "I should have taken that course on historical fashion for an elective," she said as she put the stockings and ribbons back on the table to have both hands free to attack the corset. "Does this thing tie in the front or the back?" she called out to Ellen.

"The front, mistress. I thought it best since Lady Rachel informed us that where ye are from, ye tend to be quite shy and private—preferring to do things for yerself—rather than allowing me to help as is proper."

Harley smiled. Obviously, Ellen did not approve of a lady handling her more personal matters herself. She wondered where exactly Rachel had told everyone she was from. Shaking her head at the thought, she slung the corset around her back, pulled the edges close in the front, and struggled to lace the thing as snugly as she'd seen them do in the movies. "This is not comfortable." She turned and eyed her sports bra, then checked the neckline of the dress. The sports bra would never work since the gown appeared to be one of those that somewhat bared the shoulders.

After one last deep breath, she gave up and tied the supportive garment, wondering how long it would take her breasts to spill out over the top. She'd never been the busty sort, but that thing lifted the girls and set them on a shelf for everyone to admire. Stockings next, she decided, then maybe the linen nightgown? Seems like she'd seen a movie once where the women wore that to keep their gowns clean longer by protecting them from sweat and body oils.

She perched on the edge of the wooden toilet, pulled on the stockings, then stood. With every step she took, they crept downward. The ribbons. That had to be what kept the stockings up. Harley shook her head. "And here I thought they were for my hair."

"What say ye, mistress?" Ellen called from the other side of the screen.

"Nothing." Harley yanked the stockings back up in place, then tied the ribbons around her legs just above her knees. "This feels weird." No underwear, hosiery held up by ribbons lashed around her knees, and a sleeveless straight jacket to keep her chest shelved up under her chin. She donned the linen nightgown next, and while it made her feel less exposed, it did not diminish the strangeness of her underpinnings.

"And now, for the dress." Harley pulled it down from the hook, marveling at the richness of the vibrant crimson cloth. She slipped it on over her head and let fall in place. "It fits—perfectly," she called out to Ellen.

"Lady Rachel has a good eye," the matron said, sounding as though she was farther across the room.

It not only laced in the front but also under her left arm. She pulled those snug first, tied them, then tucked the loose ends out of sight. The gown wasn't quite off the shoulder, but it was close. The sports bra would never have worked. Harley frowned at the amount of exposed flesh as her breasts swelled dangerously close to the neckline. Actually, they mounded above the neckline like a pair of softballs ready to pop out and play. She shoved them downward, held tight to the neckline and corset, and hopped up and down, trying to shake everything down to a respectable level.

She emerged from behind the screen, still tucking as much of her chest down into her dress as possible. Head bent and focus fixed on her décolletage, she walked straight into Ronan, then squeaked and jumped back a step. "What are you doing in here? Did you ever think of knocking, or is that something they didn't start doing until the next century?"Her cheeks burned like fire, and the heat spread to her chest. She knew without looking she was probably a brighter crimson than the dress.

Ronan stared at her, silent as if carved of stone. Lips barely parted, his gaze raked across her, making her burn even hotter.

"Well? What do you want?" She stamped her stockinged foot and clapped her hands inches from the tip of his nose.

He cleared his throat and pulled himself up to his full, impressive height. "I knocked, lass.Mistress Ellen let me in on her way out. She said ye were dressing and bade me promise to stay on this side of the screen and wait for ye like a proper gentleman."

"A proper gentleman, my Aunt Fannie." While the look in his eyes made her feel beautiful, a feeling she hadn't felt in a very long while, she wasn't about to let down her guard. "What do you want?"

"I thought to give ye a more extensive tour of the keep and the grounds." He cocked a brow and tipped a glance down at her feet. "But ye might not be comfortable traipsing about the place in yer stockings." After a contrite bow, he added, "Ye look verra lovely in yer gown, lass. Verra lovely, indeed."

"Thank you." Her hands went to her hair. "I still have to deal with this, though." She glanced around the room, trying to remember what Ellen had said about shoes or slippers. "As you can see, I am not finished dressing. Why don't you come back later—or better yet, eat something from the breakfast buffet so Ellen will think I ate it." She went back behind the screen and searched. No. No shoes there. Hadn't Ellen said that was where she put them?

His deep, rumbling chuckle filled the room like light from a sunny window. "Aye, ye will find Ellen relentless in taking care of her charges. 'Tis why Mother assigned her to ye. Yer slippers are out here, lass. Beside the bench at the foot of the bed. And yer brushes and combs are on the dressing table."

She rounded the screen to find him on one knee, a pair of leather slippers in one hand and his other held out for her to take. "Allow me to help ye finish dressing, and then I'd be most happy to give ye a complete tour."

Flustered at such gallant attentiveness, she crossed the room and held out her hand. "Give me the shoes.I don't need any help."

With a sly glint in his eyes, he held them just out of her reach. "Nay, lass.Ye must allow me to make amends for barging in on ye uninvited. I dinna wish ye to think me some ill-mannered cur. Allow me to fit the wee slippers on yer feet, and then I shall brush yer hair." He winked. "Ye will find me gentle and quite talented."

He was goading her. The man acted like making her snap at him thrilled him immensely. Teeth clenched to keep from giving him that satisfaction, she flounced down onto the cushioned bench and held out her foot. Rather than verbally spar, she fixed him with a venomous glare.

With his amused gaze locked with her lethal stare, he cradled her stockinged foot in his massive hand and methodically swirled his thumb in a mesmerizing circle around her ankle. She tensed every muscle to keep from shivering and revealing to him how tantalizing that felt.

As he slid the soft leather of the shoe onto her foot, he gave her the sort of smile that made it clear he could undress her even more easily if she would only allow it. He barely touched the back of her leg, massaging her calf, his fingertips leaving a burning trail through the thin layer of the silky stockings.

With his eyes never leaving hers, he gently lowered that foot to the floor and slid his hand in a soft caress along the top of her other foot.

She wet her lips and struggled not to pant. This was so not fair for him to have such an effect on her. His smug smile helped her battle her way out of the haze of his mesmerizing touch. He treated her to another delicious massage before placing the slipper on her foot and securing the ties. Once he finished, she pulled her foot out of his hand and placed it on the floor, primly beside the other one."Thank you. Now, why don't you eat something while I brush my hair? As you can see, there is more than enough food."

He leaned forward and placed his hands on either side of her, trapping her on the bench while bringing his face closer to hers.She swallowed hard as he held his mouth within a hair's breadth of hers. "I am not hungry for food, lass. Let me tend to yer hair, and then I shall take ye on the tour I promised. And dinna worry. I intend to keep ye close. For yer own safety, of course. A woman as lovely as yerself must be cherished and protected at all times—and I am the man to do it."

She swallowed hard and forced herself to breathe, battling with the urge to lean into him and give over to whatever he wanted. She couldn't. Not under any circumstances. Not until she figured out how she fit into the strangeness that had become her life. She pushed him back and placed one of her feet on the ground between his knees while slowly digging her thumbs into the soft indentations just above his collarbone. "Sweet words, MacKay. But you will find I am not some helpless wench bowled over by empty promises."

He surprised her by curling his lips to one side in a self-assured smirk, then bowed his head and lifted his hands while leaning back to free her. "Ye will find I never make empty promises, Harley—and I would never err by considering ye helpless."

She rose and jutted her chin in the air, then pushed past him, went to the dressing table, snatched up the brush, and started yanking it through her tangled hair. How dare he treat her like some female that only existed to melt in his arms. She'd made the mistake of being vulnerable once. Never would she go down that road again—especially not in fifteenth-century Scotland.She had more important matters than dabbling with men to attend to here.

Silent as a shadow, he was suddenly beside her, taking the brush out of her hand. "Nay, lass. Such beautiful hair should never be treated in such a manner. Allow me." He gently took her by the arm and led her to a cushioned stool. "Close yer eyes, Harley. Relax. Ye should know by now that I mean ye no harm."

She knew he meant her no harm, but in a way—he did. He had such a pull to him. It wasn't just his dark good looks, either. There was something in his eyes, something unspoken in his words, something about him that made her realize she could forgive him a multitude of sins and would delightfully help him commit even more. She cleared her throat, painfully aware that her increased heart rate and rapid breathing were probably quite visible by the rise and fall of her exposed chest. "I'm not tender headed. Sometimes, it snarls so badly you just have to rip it out."

He leaned in close, the warmth of his breath tickling her ear. "Leave it to me, lass," he said softly. "Close yer eyes."

After a deep breath, she shut her eyes and gave over to the gentleness of his touch. The rhythmic shushing of the brush as he ran it across her tresses hypnotized her. "You are quite good at this. Do it often?" She figured he used this method whenever he was in port seducing women.

"Aye, lass," he said with a humorous lilt to his tone. "Every day."

She opened her eyes and lifted both brows. "Every day?"

He chuckled as he pulled her hair back from her face and started plaiting it. "When we visit the stables, I shall introduce ye to Enbarr. Ye will see what a fine mane and tail he has because I ensure they are well brushed daily. His hair is almost as lovely as yers."

Without moving her head, she rolled her eyes. He had just compared her to his horse.

He stepped away, gathered up more items from the dressing table, then returned to stand behind her. "These combs will hold this fine braid in a coil to the back of yer head and make everyone see ye as the regal lady that ye are."

Rendered speechless at such a compliment, she struggled to think of something to say, but only came up with a weak, "Thank you."

He rested his hands on her shoulders, leaned over her again, and brushed the most seductive of kisses to the side of her neck. "Thank ye for allowing me to attend to ye, m'lady." The intoxicating softness of his deep voice caressed her senses.

She drew in a shuddering breath and pressed a hand to her flaming chest that she felt certain mirrored her burning cheeks. Time to escape before she did something she regretted. She skittered away from him and went to the door. "Now that you have me ready—" She inwardly cringed at her choice of words. "Let's go."

Ronan smiled, joined her at the door, and offered his arm. The look in his eyes almost dared her to take it.

Far be it from her to back down from a dare. She ground her teeth together and fought to get a handle on both her irritation and fascination with him. She hooked her arm through his, reminding herself she only had to play this game until she was sure of herself and able to survive. Besides, maybe while he was showing her around, they'd pass a short wall she could shove him over. She didn't want him dead—just bounced around a little and put in his place for all the complicated feelings he had no right setting ablaze inside her.