Twenty-three

O liver suspected that if Patricia MacLeod grew up to be anything like her niece—the appropriate twistings of the family tree to accommodate that, of course—Jamie was going to be in the soup.

He looked to his right to see how that same niece was reacting to being several hundred feet off the ground, but all he could see was the back of her head since she had her face pressed against the helicopter glass. She was clutching his hand rather enthusiastically, though, which he didn't protest.

Brave lass that she was.

"Och," she said, pulling on his hand and pointing. "'Tis Cameron Hall!"

Indeed, it was. He watched her watch the landscape as they flew over it and was genuinely surprised that she wasn't shrieking or fainting or having some other reaction that would have been completely understandable.

She glanced at him, then smiled. "What is it?"

"You."

"Go on with ye, ye wee fiend," she said, blushing a little.

"You're fearless," he said sincerely. He hesitated, then cast caution to the wind. "Your father would be, I imagine, very proud of you right now."

"Perhaps," she agreed with a smile, then she shook her head in wonder. "He would have found this much to his liking, I daresay."

Oliver watched her turn back to press her face against the window and could only hope that at some point in the twistings and turnings and non-linear stylings of time itself, the man would have that chance. He was simply grateful he was getting to watch Mairead MacLeod take her father's advice to heart. The modern world would never be the same.

For himself, along with the knowledge that he would never be the same with her in his life had come the realization that he needed to make serious progress toward better presenting himself as not just a desirable dating partner, but an eminently desirable mate.

The initial plan, which he'd jotted down briefly in the self-care manual that he'd taken to carrying with him, was to introduce Mairead to those residing at Cameron Hall so she might see that he had decent adopted relatives whilst simultaneously providing her with a wider circle of friends. He suspected that having relatives with a command of the language-du-previous-jour might come in useful during his attempts to woo a woman of a different vintage.

Assuming, of course, that he could pry her out of the helicopter and get her inside the hall, which he was utterly unsurprised to find was an effort to do. He promised her another trip as soon as was polite, then walked into Cameron Hall with her fifteen minutes later, his strategy at the ready.

He would have quickly sorted the souls inside into groups based on their potential for mayhem, but the truth was, they were—with the possible exception of Ewan—just perfectly wonderful. He sent looks of promise to Derrick, Peter, and Ewan as a matter of course, but he imagined they expected that.

"Oh, Mairead," Sunshine said, hurrying across the hall to embrace her and take her by the hand. "We're so happy you came today. Let me make introductions, shall I?"

Oliver was fairly gratified to have Mairead look over her shoulder at him and lift an eyebrow in question, but he waved her on to what he hoped would be a lovely morning of getting to know his adopted kin. He stood on the periphery and watched as Sunshine made those promised introductions, ones she had made just as graciously several days earlier when Mairead had been in a slightly different state of being. Mairead didn't seem to notice and Sunshine was definitely too discreet to mention it.

He watched as she was presented to Emily and was equally unsurprised at how kind Emily was to her. They immediately launched into nattering on in a delightful mixture of modern and somewhat vintage-accented French, which he found simultaneously endearing and extremely attractive.

"I think you need a whisky," Derrick breathed into his ear.

Oliver flicked him between the eyes without looking because he'd had so damned much practice doing the same to Ewan. Derrick cursed him, Ewan laughed, and Mairead looked at him with a slightly perplexed expression.

"What?"

"Oliver thinks you're beautiful," Ewan said solemnly.

"He's daft," Mairead said happily.

"About everything else?" Ewan asked. "Absolutely. Not, however, about you." He pushed past Oliver, more roughly than necessary, and stopped next to her. "I could sit next to you and wax rhapsodic about your charms if you'd like to take up a spot on the sofa here."

Oliver looked at Derrick. "Help me not kill him."

"Do you think I'd stop that?" Derrick said with a snort. "Have at him and please end him this time. You threaten and threaten, yet nothing happens."

" You threaten," Oliver grumbled. "I endure him because he has fairly decent ideas on obtaining those elusive second dates with gorgeous Renaissance misses."

Mairead looked up at him from where she was indeed sitting next to Ewan on the sofa. "Fourth."

He blinked. "We're on our fourth?"

"Right now, aye."

"Then what are we doing here surrounded by this annoying collection of lads?" He gave the women his best smile. "The present company comprised of you stunning ladies excluded, of course."

Madame Gies laughed happily. "Ah, Oliver, love, you have such delightful manners."

"Summon me when you need stirring help," he offered gallantly, then he reached over Ewan and pulled his lady to her feet and over to where he could hold her hand. "We'll come be your tasters, of course."

"Do you two have any plans other than taking up residence in my kitchen?" Cameron asked politely. "We'll have supper later, but I thought it best to leave everyone at loose ends for the rest of the day."

"We were thinking about a little treasure hunt," Oliver admitted.

Peter's ears perked up. Oliver saw them do it. He was also fairly sure the rest of the crew had stopped yawning.

"What sort?" Derrick asked.

Oliver looked at Mairead and smiled, figuring she would understand the unspoken invitation. She lifted her eyebrows briefly at him, then turned to face the lads.

"I have a book," she said in perfect English.

Well, perhaps English with a tinge of a Renaissance accent to it, but it left the others there delighted.

"Any details?" Derrick asked, obviously stopping just short of flexing his fingers and rushing off toward the front door.

"'Tis a manuscript penned by a man named Sinclair McKinnon," she offered in Gaelic. "He was a Londoner who'd come back to Scotland to write about his travels here. The McKinnons did him the courtesy of burying him in their kirk after his untimely demise."

"The ruin just over the property border?" Derrick asked. "I don't think they tend it any longer."

"It's definitely not listed," Ewan said. "A bit of careful exploration for loose stones and who knows what we might find?"

They both looked at Peter who smiled slightly.

Oliver suspected it was at that exact moment that he began to lose control of the day.

He watched Cameron make himself comfortable on one of the sofas there whilst the lads trotted off to his office to no doubt dig out laptops and thumb through a well-used collection of topical maps of the area. He would have offered to help, but his plan dictated that he remain by the side of his intended constantly, so he ignored his colleagues and turned his attentions to the object of his affections.

He would have perhaps carefully explained to her what the lads were off doing, but found that not only was his input unnecessary, it would go unheard. Emily had already absconded with her, leading her upstairs to see if something might be found that might make for appropriate treasure hunting gear. He looked around to see if anyone had noticed the theft but found only Ewan watching him from across the great hall.

Oliver held up his hands in surrender.

Ewan made opening and closing motions, hopefully of a book and not some sort of medieval torture device that was in Oliver's future.

Oliver shrugged helplessly.

Ewan rolled his eyes and walked back into the office, shaking his head.

He considered joining the lads, but felt the call of something from the kitchen. He made Cameron and Sunshine a small bow, waved to Sam, then wandered back into Madame Gies's domain without delay. He made pleasant conversation with her for a bit, flattering her out of a slice of chocolate cake that should have earned her a spot on some exclusive cooking competition, then excused himself to see if anyone might have returned his favorite Highland lass to the great hall. He chewed happily because the cake was indeed superb, then came to a skidding halt in the middle of the hall.

He almost dropped his slice in surprise.

"Oh, my giddy aunt," Ewan breathed.

Oliver would have spared a moment to wonder why Ewan always found himself in the most advantageous locale for an elbow to the ribs or a smart flick between the eyes, but he was too busy gaping at the apparition coming down the stairs. He reminded himself that apparition was a very poor choice of words, but to be honest, he found that his usually extensive vocabulary had completely deserted him.

Mairead was walking down the stairs with Emily, dressed in black. Mairead, not Emily, though Emily was dressed very nicely in black trousers and a white blouse topped off with a cream cashmere sweater. Mairead was wearing a modest pair of black cargo trousers, a black polo neck jumper, and black trainers on her feet. Her hair was slicked back and no doubt contained in an equally elegant braid.

She was, in a word, glorious.

She bounced down the final handful of steps and continued her jaunty journey over to stop in front of him and look at him with bright eyes.

"What do you think?"

He could only stare at her, speechless.

Ewan put his hand lightly—and very briefly, because he obviously knew what was good for him—on Mairead's shoulder. "He's overcome by your beauty."

"I'm not—"

"You are," Oliver wheezed. Though perhaps beautiful wasn't the proper word. Ridiculously sexy was likely much closer to the mark, but he was trying to be a gentleman and there was still wooing to accomplish before he simply collapsed in front of her and begged her to put him out of his misery and marry him that very afternoon.

"Are you thinking dramatic thoughts?" Derrick murmured from where he'd obviously come to stand next to him.

Oliver elbowed him, probably with unnecessary force, but when a man was in the middle of dramatic thoughts about the woman he most definitely might love, there was nothing else to be done. He could only look at Mairead and nod, hoping she might interpret that in a positive way. He watched her as she was invited to gather with a few of the lads and examine possible gear for the mission. Ewan's Gaelic was excellent, something Oliver hadn't paid all that much attention to before, and his ability to explain the technical side of their operation was unsurpassed. He glanced to his right to find Derrick standing there, watching with a slight frown.

"I think," Oliver said slowly, "that we may have underestimated him."

"He's still annoying."

"I never said he wasn't," Oliver conceded, "but there's more to him than I suspected all these years."

"He didn't help me win my wife."

Oliver pursed his lips. "That was dumb luck on your part and a great deal of pity on hers." He paused. "I will concede that you haven't completely botched the whole affair yet."

"Make lists," Derrick advised.

Oliver looked at him narrowly. "My bloody book was your idea, wasn't it?"

Derrick tapped the middle of his forehead. "You think anyone else could have come up with such brilliance? Make a new section and entitle it, All the Things I Love about Mairead MacLeod . Add to it constantly. Show it to her every day." Derrick nodded knowingly. "Trust me on this."

Oliver had to admit that Samantha seemed very happy and Derrick was aggressively besotted, so perhaps the suggestion couldn't be dismissed out of hand. He caught the earbud and mic that Peter tossed him, then found that all he could do was stand and watch as his lady was swept up into the usual madness of pirates on the prowl.

"She's lovely," Sam said, smiling at him on her way past him. "We have plans to talk John Bagley into a few self-defense courses for women. I think swords might be involved."

Oliver could only stare at her, mute.

He watched her join Sunshine who was standing with the collection of souls he was rather fond of. And when the one he loved looked over and held out her hand toward him, he gave himself up for lost and walked over to see what the brief might contain.

A successful hunt and a lovely supper later, he wandered downstairs to crash on the couch which was his usual habit when at Cameron Hall, though Cameron and Sunshine had given him his own room a pair of years earlier. One of the perks of being part of the clan, no doubt.

He took his shoes off and flopped onto the sofa, sighing deeply at a day well lived and a hunt successfully concluded, though he imagined he would need to discuss the details with his beloved when she wasn't surrounded by people who seemed genuinely delighted to have added her to their midst.

And speaking of people who were delighted to know her, Jamie had been the object of a phone call from her earlier where she'd assured him that she would be well looked after—and chaperoned—so there was no cause for worry. Oliver had listened to Jamie sharpening his sword when he'd been handed the phone, then had a laugh for his trouble before Jamie had simply hung up on him.

Warning heeded, though, because he was no fool.

He also had very good ears which alerted him to the fact that someone was tiptoeing down the stairs. He lifted his head to peek over the back of the couch and saw that it was his lady, clad in new pajamas which he suspected were courtesy of Emily and her unholy relationship with couriers with shopping bags.

He was beginning to suspect she'd had a bigger hand in his torment than he'd been willing to credit her with.

He smiled up at Mairead who sat down on one end of the couch and patted her lap. He supposed that was innocent enough, so he made use of her leg as a pillow and suppressed a sigh when she began to drag her fingers through his hair.

"We've done this before," she said at one point.

He nodded.

She continued to smooth his hair back from his forehead. "And what did you say to me?"

"Something I meant then and mean now."

She smiled and waited.

He looked at her for another moment or two, then sat up, turned around and leaned forward to kiss her softly.

"I love you."

She closed her eyes briefly, then looked at him. "I love you."

He kissed her again with a bit less haste and repeated the sentiment in French.

She laughed softly and returned the favor, then smiled and put her hand against his cheek. "Very romantic."

"I know other languages." He paused. "I might only know how to ask for the loo in them, though."

"Less romantic," she noted, "but still charming."

He smiled, kissed her again whilst she still found him charming, then wrapped his arms around her and encouraged her to make herself comfortable. "Did you look at your manuscript yet?"

She shook her head. "I'm not certain I'm ready to, though I would go in Cameron's office and have a look if you wanted to."

"Mair, it's your book," he said seriously. "You read it or not, as it pleases you."

"So much freedom," she said lightly. "It might go to my head and leave me running wild."

"In any particular direction?" he asked casually.

She tilted her head back and smiled at him. "Do you have a preference?"

"Yes, Mairead," he said seriously. "Actually, I do."

She kissed his cheek, then smiled at him. "Then let us say that if I were to run off somewhere that you happened not to be, I would leave you a map."

"The lads have corrupted you."

"They have," she agreed. She looked at the fire for a bit, then at him. "Tell me about a few of your noteworthy adventures, Oliver," she said quietly, "whilst the fire is warm and we are safe."

He gathered her close, wrapped both his arms around her and pulled her back to rest against his chest. "Where shall I start?"

"With your most recent piece of business." She glanced at him. "Sunny says you ran over a wee granny's treasured piece of shrubbery, but I can't believe it."

He vowed to reward Lady Sunshine properly for tattling on him, but it had been the last straw in what had led him unwillingly to Scotland, so he would likely limit his repayment to a brief scowl.

He made certain Mairead was covered properly with a throw he found on the back of the couch, wrapped her securely in his arms, then launched into a faithful recounting of that poor fuchsia hedge and its encounter with the front of the non-descript Ford he drove for work. It hardly took getting past the pain of being reprimanded by a sturdy copy of the Sun on Sunday before Mairead was asleep.

He realized that he'd dozed off as well when he felt himself being covered by another blanket. He opened his eyes and smiled at Sunshine Cameron.

"Thank you," he whispered. "And not just for this time."

"Faker."

He smiled. "But a warm one."

"You know, you could go find a bed," she said dryly. "And two of them unless you wanted the entire clan MacLeod to chase you across Scotland with vengeance on their minds."

"I wouldn't think to do anything else," Oliver said honestly. "I'm finding, though, given our history, that I don't want to let her get too far away."

"Understandable."

"But I also don't want to move too quickly."

"Perplexing."

He hardly had to manufacture a frown. "Are you helping?"

She smiled. "Teasing you a little, actually." She studied Mairead thoughtfully for a moment or two, then looked at him. "I think she is very fond of you."

"Do you think so?" he asked.

"Didn't she say as much?"

He nodded carefully.

"Did you tell her the same thing?"

He nodded again.

"And that's it?"

"I gave her a flower four hundred years ago."

"Well," she said dryly, "I'm sure that removed all doubt."

He smiled—or tried to. "I don't want to doubt my appeal, but she does have an entirely new world of blokes to look over."

"I understand," Sunny said, "more thoroughly than I want to admit to. But some things are just meant to be and time doesn't really want to get in the way."

He took as deep a breath as he dared. "I think I can make her happy."

"Oliver, you're not watching her watch you when you're looking at something else," Sunny said seriously. "I actually think she's crazy about you. If you're crazy about her, then do something about it. Where did you and the boys go today?"

He frowned, not quite following the non sequitur. "We went to a ruined McKinnon church," he said slowly.

"And what's their motto?"

"'Tear me down before I fall there myself from neglect'—oh, you mean the McKinnon motto."

She pursed her lips. "You're only marginally funny at this time of night, you know. What's their motto?"

He closed his eyes briefly. " Audentes Fortuna Juvat ."

"Not our clan's, but a pretty pithy saying just the same. You don't want Ewan cutting ahead of you in the queue, do you?"

"Perish the thought," he said with as much of a gasp as he dared attempt.

She hesitated, then sat down on the coffee table in front of him. "How are you, really?"

Oliver glanced at Mairead, then looked at Sunny with a raised eyebrow.

"She's asleep," Sunny whispered. "Unless she's as good at faking as you are."

"I wouldn't be surprised," he whispered back. "And I feel a little like I'm sleepwalking, if you want the entire truth." He paused, then supposed there was no reason not to be frank. "Do you ever worry?"

"That Cam will go on a run and run into a different century?"

"It happens."

"That's experience talking there, I know." She took a deep breath, then shook her head. "We have one of Jamie's maps, of course, and Jamie updates it more regularly than Elizabeth's probably happy with, so while we don't deliberately tempt fate, we just don't worry about it. I assume Cam will come home without incident and we'll all be fine. Worrying about the alternative won't help."

He sighed. "I'm a contingency sort of lad, you know."

"But once all that's accounted for, what do you do?"

"Plan for the worst, expect the best," he muttered, then he smiled at her. "Point taken."

"What's your favorite quote?"

"Something pithy about revenge on mates who sent me on holiday, I'm certain."

"Actually, I think somewhere in your tiny little office in London you have something on the wall that says, ‘What is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?'"

"I was suffering from too much green drink when I pinned that up there."

" I put that on your wall because you saw it in my kitchen in London and said you felt a deep kinship with Mary Oliver who wrote it. And if you've forgotten what you said when I hung it up for you, it was an extremely pithy, ‘best fill it with good things, then, what?'" She smiled. "That's pretty good advice, don't you think?"

He took a deep breath. "You know I'm going to weep now, don't you?"

She smiled, then dug in her pocket for something that she then held out toward him. "Here's a distraction."

He pulled his hand out from under the blanket and took back his phone. "I see I have them properly intimidated if you're still delivering things to me."

"I volunteered," she said. "Had to make sure you were warm enough. It's actually charged, if that makes any difference to you."

"I'm terrified to admit that it doesn't."

She stood up, reached over and brushed his hair out of his eyes, then smiled at him. "Nighty night, brother. The hall's secure and you and your girl are safe. Sleep in peace."

He nodded in gratitude, then rested his cheek gently against Mairead's head, unable to even bring himself to swear silently to stave off a bout of ridiculously tender emotion. He indulged in several deep breaths to get hold of himself, propped his feet up on the coffee table, and decided to distract himself by thinking about a few things he hadn't had time for earlier.

The first thing that came to mind was their success in finding Mairead's manuscript along with several other authorly items of note in the old McKinnon kirk. He would happily leave to Cameron the finessing that would need to happen with the current clan chief over their find, but for his part he was merely relieved Mairead's document had survived. It had been cooling its heels in a decently fashioned stone box, which had helped, though many things survived in less ideal spots.

Not, however, in the boles of trees, which likely spelled the end of the first half of the Duke of Birmingham's infamous adventures. The location of the second half of that book was still a mystery, but he was certain it couldn't have survived for long in the wilds of 16th-century Scotland.

He wondered who had nicked it to begin with. It had to have been someone with easy access to Elizabeth's library, who could read, and who was interested in a bit of tame romance. He suspected one of Jamie's boys, but he'd been wrong before.

The final thing on his list was the identity of the lad who'd stabbed Ewan on their way through the gate. The knife could have belonged to anyone, so no joy there. He wasn't sure if having the dirk in the future was going to upset the balance of the world, but he hardly wanted to ask Jamie for his opinion on the same.

He also didn't want to make a final trip to 1583 to tie up any loose ends, though he was beginning to think he might need to. He'd never blamed Sam for wanting to keep Derrick in the future, but he could understand on an entirely new level why she wasn't keen on her husband time traveling. A brief foray to a Regency house party, perhaps, but the wilds of pre-Victorian Scotland?

A dodgy business, that.

He might have to talk to Jamie after all—perhaps beginning the conversation by conceding that the man had good reason for his rules—but maybe he could take a day or two and make a few strides in wooing the woman in his arms. Now that he had his phone back and Ewan on speed dial, his success was likely almost guaranteed.

But carefully. He might have lost control of the introduction of Mairead MacLeod to the future, but he would make up for that with a proper wooing, perhaps in the style of the Duke of B. who she seemed to think the epitome of all things heroic.

Slow. Patient. Ginger.

With watchwords like those, how could he fail? He would defy Ewan Cameron himself to come up with a better plan for the wooing and winning of Lady Mairead MacLeod, Renaissance clanswoman, and the girl he simply couldn't stop looking at.

"I love you," he murmured.

She opened her eyes and looked at him, then smiled. "I love you, too."

He smiled, tightened his arms around her briefly, then closed his eyes.

Tomorrow was another day full of possibilities.

He could hardly wait to get to them.