“It is part of the curse, woman. Surely, Granny Sinclair told ye.” Wet dog. How dare she?He caught the bag and worked his fingers up and down the strange strip of metal bits sewn into the seam of the canvas bag. What the blazes? He palmed and squeezed the bundle, yanking at its sides. The bag felt as though it was filled with clothing but how the devil was he supposed to get inside it? “What trickery is this? Ye give me clothes but ye trap them in a sack with no opening?”
She toddled over to him, all the while making a low chortling sound that greatly resembled the clucking of a nesting hen. “Give me the wee bag.” She snatched the bundle from his hands and with a swift yank, the metal seam of the thing split open. “Here. It is called a zipper. The contraption cinches garments much better than laces but take care. Whenever the wee beasties do malfunction they can be a fecking snarl and gnaw into whatever gets in their path.” Her gaze dipped back down to his crotch and she softly laughed. “Mind yer finer parts, my chieftain, whenever ye don those trews.”
He fingered the strange thing called a zipper, then pulled the tab as Eliza had done and the seam closed back up. Ingenious. He slowly pulled it back open. What simple wonders the future held. He went to pull the zipper closed again.
Eliza smacked his hand. “Ye’ve no time for that. Ye best be getting yer arse in those clothes. Mairi willna be gone long and we have yet to decide on how best to introduce ye.”
“I am not a lad to be rapped across the knuckles.” He glared at her and zipped the bag shut again. He would do as he damn well wished. The old woman best learn that straight away.
“Then stop behaving like one.” She shoved the bag of clothes against his chest. “Get dressed. Now.”
He plopped the bag onto the table and pawed through the contents. A heavy pair of dark trews and a shirt made of material so slick it slipped through his hands like liquid. “How did ye come to have these clothes? They are not mine, but their colors match the somber shades of my plaid.” He dipped into the bag again and came up with a fine woven plaid, rich and dark in his own colors. “And this? Explain. Now.”
“Mind yer manners. I willna be ordered about within my own house.” Eliza didn’t bother looking at him, just flipped open the lid of a shining kettle and filled it with water. “I speak to Nia often. She knew exactly what ye would need and I took care of the rest.” She clapped the lid shut, set the kettle atop what looked to be a black iron grate then muttered something as she twisted a knob alongside the grating. A quietclick click clicksounded then a ring of blue flames whooshed into existence beneath the kettle.
“Witchery.” The word escaped him with a startled hiss. He sidled around to the other side of the table while keeping his gaze locked on Eliza. “Mother Sinclair didna say ye were a witch.”
Eliza waved his words away as she hooked her plump fingers through the handle of an overhead cabinet and yanked the door open. “Calm down, my fine chieftain. While It is true I am a witch, this has nothing to do with witchcraft. It is just a gas stove.” She wagged a warning finger at him as she selected several items from the cupboard. “Now get dressed. Mairi willna be long at the market.”
He stepped into the trews and yanked them up his body. A bit tight. The copper zipper made him frown. Eliza’s warning flashed through his mind as he ran his thumb down the rough metallic teeth. Carefully, he tucked his man parts out of harm’s way, then pulled the wee beastie shut. He shook out the quicksilver tunic and pulled it on over his head. The black material stretched taut across his chest like a second skin.
“Oh my.”
Ronan glanced up. Two patches of bright pink highlighted each of the old woman’s wrinkled cheeks. “What ails ye, woman?”
Eliza licked her lips and fanned herself with one hand. “I do believe ye are even more impressive dressed. If I were a few years younger . . .”
He flexed his bare feet on the smoothness of the cold floor, not caring much for the hungry glint in her eyes. Best distract the old witch. “Boots, woman. What about my feet?”
She blinked as though waking from a trance. “Boots?”
“Aye. Boots?” He upended the canvas bag and shook it over the table. “There’s nary left but wool socks and the plaid.” He fingered through the articles. Fine wool. Precision stitchery. Perhaps all was not lost in the future. It appeared craftsmen had honed their skills to a remarkable level.
Eliza threw her hands in the air as though someone goaded her with a hot brand. “Boots! I canna believe I forgot the boots.” She tapped her chin as she glanced around at all the lower cabinets lining the walls. “Where the devil did I put them? Nia sent ye a fine pair and I had to hide them from the girls.”
She slowly circled the room. A knowing smile brightened her face as she rolled a cloth hamper out of a cluttered corner and revealed a pair of black boots. “Ye see? Nia thought of everything.”
Those were his best boots. His boots. The boots old Thalus had made for him with the costly hide Chieftain Gray MacKenna had sent to Draegonmare along with a pair of fine horses as thanks to Ronan for ensuring the duel with his man-at-arms Colum went as his wife’s sister Kenna wished. “How the hell did Mother Sinclair get her hands on my finest boots?”
Before Eliza could answer a sharp thud sounded somewhere in the house. “Oh lordy. That was the front door. It has to be Mairi and we’ve nay spared a moment to work out yer introduction.”
He wadded up the empty canvas bag, grabbed hold of the socks and plaid, and bounded across the room. “She left but a few moments ago. Surely, ’tis not the Lady Mairi.”
Eliza short-stepped to the kitchen door, glanced up and down the hallway, then hurried him toward the boots. “There’s no time to argue the point. Get yer socks and boots on and prepare yerself. Whatever I figure out to tell Mairi, just agree with it. It is our only hope. Now hurry up. We’ll take the back way to the parlor.” She pointed to a small door inset beside the swinging kitchen doors she had come through earlier. “There. It’s the hidden hallway intended for servants long ago. Hurry now!”
He yanked on the socks, then shoved his feet into his boots. There. At least he was dressed. “This must go well,” he said as he yanked open the small door and bent to enter the damp musty passage.
“It will,” Eliza promised. She shooed him deeper into the hallway. “Now haul arse. She mustn’t find us in the kitchen. I can stall her a wee bit at the door but not long.”
CHAPTER6
Mairi shoved the cloth handles of the totes over her shoulder, twisted the knob, and bumped the door again with her hip. What was the deal? It wasn’t locked. The knob turned in her hand and the latch clicked its usualI’m open. Come in. The bright red door bounced against the threshold but remained firmly closed. The one drawback she had found to living in Edinburgh was the way the damp weather, especially in winter, made doors swell and stick. But this was the first time the front door had ever been this difficult to open.
“Eliza!” Hooking the handle of her umbrella over the iron railing hemming in the narrow landing, Mairi pounded on the door. “Come open the door. It’s stuck or something.” She took a step back and waited, straining to hear any sign of movement on the other side. The house was quiet. All she heard was the gentle clicking of the out-of-balance ceiling fan whirring in the foyer. Eliza must have gone to Lilia’s shop for the afternoon.
Mairi propped her shoulder against the door again and shoved. This time it flew open so fast, she stumbled into the hallway and bounced off the opposite wall. All the totes went flying, spewing their contents across the polished entryway tiles. The bag of dog food hit the floor so hard one of the seams split and kibble bounced in all directions.
“Dammit to hell.” She dropped to her knees and started scooping up dog food. “What a freaking mess.”
