“Grand,” she said softly because the place commanded the reverence of quiet. The impressive skirting wall of chiseled stone blocks appeared cold and unforgiving; its weathered sides riddled with arrow slits. The barricade glared down at her, daring her to reveal that in a little over seven hundred years, nothing more than an overgrown patch of scattered rubble, barely discernible from the shoreline’s mottled stones, would remain. MacTaggart keep would be forgotten. Returned to the earth from whence it came. She teared up at the thought. Or perhaps it was the brisk wind, briny and fresh, blowing in from the sea.
Before they reached the entrance, the iron portcullis, its jagged teeth rusty from the salt air, slowly raised with the jarring rattle of heavy chains and groaning gears. It made Evie think of a monster’s gaping maw. “Unleash the Kraken,” she whispered. The eeriness grew stronger when she realized not a single soul walked atop the wall or peeped out from the guard tower. It was as if the fortification itself recognized its master and welcomed him home.
The cobblestoned bailey magnified every echoing clippity-clop of the horses’ hooves, wearing on Evie’s straining nerves. If she had ever mastered the proverbialstiff upper lip, now was the time to shield herself with the famed British fortitude. She could do this. Of course, she had no choice but to do this or—Never mind, she didn’t even want to think about all that could go wrong if she didn’t have some sort of sanctuary in the thirteenth century.
Men, women, and children, as well as a noisy cluster of chickens and geese, milled about the enormous courtyard lined with both large and small dwellings built against the inner side of the protective curtain wall. The main keep reigned supreme in the center of the mighty fortress like the community building at the hub of a small town.
A medieval habitat. Re-enactments of the past dimmed in comparison to reality. She noted the smithy in one corner and what looked to be a barracks or armory built against the easterly wall. The sudden awareness that the individuals residing in the place proceeded to press in uncomfortably close interrupted her analytical study of the place. She scooted back, sinking deeper into the protective arc of Quinn’s embrace.
“Our chieftain has returned to us hale and hearty thanks to this woman!” Dugan boomed in a voice loud enough to shake the cornerstone free of the foundation. “His—”
“My betrothed,” Quinn interrupted. “The Lady Evaline Indiana Wortham.”
He had remembered her full name. Even that accursed middle name her father had dubbed her with, according to her mother. The simple act warmed her heart. People remembered things about you if you weren’t invisible to them. If you mattered. If you didn’t fall through the cracks and disappear into their lint trap of nobodies easily forgotten. She hazarded a smile at the stares, picking her apart piece by piece. “It is my honor to meet you all.”
A collective intake of breath at her British accent made her heart stutter and struck fear deep within her. Quinn hadn’t exaggerated. These simple folk despised the English. She leaned tighter against him, wishing she could disappear back to her own time.
Quinn didn’t hesitate, merely sat taller and tightened his hold around her waist. “This woman dragged me out from the waterfalls close to Rosemarkie. Kept me from drowning and tended the gash in my head. A wound from a blow intended to kill me. An attack by a cowardly blackguard too weak to battle me face to face.”
People edged forward, enraptured by the tale. The women either clutched their hands to their hearts or pulled their children closer. The men’s hands tightened into fists.
Quinn gave her a gentle squeeze, a silent reassurance that he knew how to motivate his people. “Lady Evaline shared her food. Her blankets. Built a fire and watched over me through the night. She told me England had banished her. Their harsh treatment of this remarkable woman is our gain of a tender-hearted healer who has agreed to be my wife.”
The crowd cheered, and what had been glowering, suspicious glares became welcoming smiles.
“Aye,” Dugan boomed again. “To the return of our chieftain!”
The men, women, even the children shouted again, stirred by Quinn’s speech and Dugan’s enthusiasm.
He played them well. Both men did. She released the breath she held, reassured and grateful that such a cunning ally paved her way into the thirteenth century rather than someone much worse. And now that ally was to be her husband.
Improvise, adapt, overcome, she repeated to herself in an effort to stoke her flagging determination. She could do this. Somehow.
Chapter Seven
Even though Quinnhad appeared to win over the crowd, Evie couldn’t shake the feeling that their stares pelted into her like tiny darts. She didn’t begrudge them their curiosity, but did they have to make her feel like the newest addition to the zoo?
A glance at the women’s modest dresses and hair coverings of white linen made her as self-conscious as a prepubescent teenager with glasses and a mouthful of braces. Her favorite jeans, t-shirt, and field jacket decorated with patches from all the medical units she had aided didn’t fit in—just as Quinn had warned. She swiped her sweating palms across the seat of her jeans. Maybe someone could loan her some appropriate clothing.
As she bent to hoist her backpack to her shoulders, Quinn stopped her. “Nay, m’lady,” he quietly corrected. “Maidservants will fetch yer things and take them to yer room.”
“But—”
He cut her off with a look, then softened it with an indulgent smile. “It is yer right, my English lass. As future lady of this keep and the new Countess of Ardross, yer maidservants shall tend ye.”
“I see.” She released her backpack to a pair of smiling young women who kept dipping their heads and bobbing shy curtsies as they gathered the rest of the bundles from behind the saddle. Sidling closer to Quinn, she whispered, “Am I supposed to follow them?”
“Nay, I would have ye meet my sister first. Fern will help ye settle in and feel at home. Come, I wager she’s in the garden with her roses.” He offered his arm, although it took her a moment to realize what he meant. Heaven help her. If her clothing and accent didn’t do her in, her ignorance of thirteenth-century etiquette would. Now she wished she had paid closer attention to those historical movies her flatmate always streamed on her laptop.
Through an assortment of brazen stares, welcoming nods, and hesitant glances, they followed a defined path of dark flagstones that led around the western corner of the keep. The walkway took them to yet another stone wall, this one much shorter, that adjoined the fortress’s main protective barrier towering around them. This barricade was of smooth round stones mudded together. Their thin edges reminded Evie of odd-sized saucers stacked in a pile. An arched gate of iron bars marked its midpoint. A burly man, quietly snoring, stood guard or actuallyleanedagainst the wall beside the entrance. One boot planted in front of him, the other propped against the wall, he kept himself in place with a double-fisted grip on his spear.
“Berin!” Quinn barked.
The man almost dropped his weapon, fumbling as he straightened and stood at attention.
“My chieftain!” He bumped a fist against his chest and jerked his gaze downward. “Forgive me, m’lord. My weariness comes from a lack of sleep. Worried sick about yerself, m’lord. Feared ye lost to us forever.”
Evie bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing and maintained the reserved expression she always adopted whenever dealing with the Human Resource Department at Finchcrest.
