Chapter Five
Jenna tossed and turned on the bed, trying to get some rest. Rest? Ha! Chance would be a fine thing. How was she supposed to rest when a million thoughts were chasing each other through her head like startled rabbits?
She’d tried closing her eyes but every time she did she saw Arran’s face in her mind’s eye saying you will restore the magic and save my people.
She’d tried pacing up and down in her room to tire herself out but all that did was bring her close to the window through which she could see the Highlands of fifteenth century Scotland spreading out.
That made things worse. She’d tried mantra meditation to clear her mind but each time she did, her mantra just turned into a slew of voices.
Sorry, your loan application has been denied.
Ye will restore the magic and save my people.
You are too good for Alex anyway. He didn’t deserve you.
Aargh!
She thumped her fists onto the bed, staring up at the underside of the canopy that covered it.
It was a huge four-poster affair, easily big enough to sleep four people and just about the most luxurious bed she’d ever seen.
The same went for the room she’d been given.
Although “suite” would probably be a more accurate term as there were three rooms in all.
Aside from this large, lavishly furnished bedroom, there was a sitting room that boasted a fireplace large enough to stand in, dark wood furniture polished until it gleamed, and a rug so thick that her feet sank into it whenever she stepped on it.
Finally, there was even a smaller chamber that housed another fireplace with a large metal tub seated in front of it that she guessed was this era’s equivalent to a bathroom.
It was not at all what she’d expected from a fifteenth century Scottish castle, but then, she had to admit, she hadn’t known what to expect. She knew next to nothing about Scottish history, or the Highlands, or the people who lived here.
It doesn’t matter, she told herself. You’re just here to do a job and then you’ll be going home with enough money to end your troubles.
And, if she was really lucky, she’d return to the exact same moment she’d left so nobody would even notice she’d been gone.
Yes, everything would work out fine, she was sure of it.
Buoyed a little by this reasoning, she drew a deep breath and let it out again, feeling a little steadier. She frowned and cocked her head as she heard noises from somewhere deeper into the castle. The hubbub of many voices. And… singing? And was that even a bit of music?
It sounded like somewhere in the castle people were enjoying themselves.
And she’d not been invited? Humph. Lady Rosaline had instructed three maids to take care of her and there was a little bell-pull by the fireplace that she could tug if she needed anything, but what Jenna most needed right now was a little company.
Didn’t Arran realize that she needed to talk to him if she was going to figure out exactly what she was supposed to do to fix this place? Didn’t he realize that staying cooped up in this room—comfortable and lavish as it might be—would drive her crazy?
No, clearly he did not.
Fine. She got up, strode to the door, and pulled it open. A long corridor stretched off in both directions, shiny wooden doors like her own along the walls. Lady Rosaline had explained that these were the guest quarters and from the silence, Jenna guessed she was the only guest right now.
The hubbub from below was louder out here in the corridor. She could make out laughing, the clink of glasses, and the sound of a stringed instrument being played. Pulling her door closed, she headed down the corridor, reached the elegant stone staircase, and made her way down it.
At the bottom lay a grand entrance hall. To her right stood a large wooden door, slightly ajar. It was from here that the sounds were coming. Firelight and warmth spilled around the edges, warm and welcoming. Taking a deep breath, Jenna strode to the door, pushed it open, and walked in.
She found herself in a huge, vaulted hall.
It was lit by firelight from the roaring fire at one end and by hundreds of candles set in wheel-shaped chandeliers hanging from the ribbed ceiling.
Long tables filled the room, and the benches were full of people eating, talking, laughing, and singing.
In one corner a man was playing on a fat-bellied guitar-like thing and singing a merry tune in a language Jenna didn’t recognize. Gaelic, perhaps?
A woman sitting nearby suddenly noticed Jenna standing in the doorway and urgently elbowed her companions. A murmur spread through the room and the laughter, chatting, and singing died away. All eyes turned to her. Even the musician, noticing he’d lost his audience’s attention, fell silent.
Jenna licked her lips nervously. Oh heck. Perhaps this hadn’t been such a good idea. She was reminded of those scenes in old Westerns where a stranger walks into a bar and it all goes quiet. Only this time, she was the stranger.
“Um,” she said, forcing a smile. “Hi.”
She heard the scrape of a chair being pulled back, and a tall figure rose from a table at the far end of the room. Arran. He couldn’t be mistaken for anyone else with his broad shoulders and honey-blond hair gleaming in the firelight.
“My lady,” he said, his deep voice carrying across the hall. “Is all well?”
“Um. Sure,” Jenna replied. “I just heard the party and thought I might join you. Sounds like you’re having fun.”
A murmur of surprise went around the room. Arran shared a look with Rosaline who was seated next to him, then cleared his throat.
“We would be honored.” He gestured for a servant to bring another chair and place it between his and his mother’s. “Please, come and be seated.”
Jenna swallowed. “Right. Thanks.”
Many pairs of eyes followed her as she made her way awkwardly around the outside of the hall to the seat Arran had indicated.
She couldn’t quite decipher the expressions on people’s faces.
Not hostile but not exactly friendly either.
More like… nervous? But why would she make them nervous?
She was the one who’d been pulled hundreds of years out of her time and was in a room full of strangers. What did they have to be nervous about?
Arran didn’t look particularly comfortable at the sight of her either, truth be told, but he held out the seat for her like some genteel lord all the same.
She nodded her thanks as she sat between him and his mother.
Arran resumed his seat and waved over a teenage youth dressed in the colors of Clan MacLeod.
“Food for the lady.”
The lad gulped, gave Jenna a nervous glance, then bobbed his head and scurried away. Arran reached for a jug and poured a golden liquid into a pewter goblet which he held out to Jenna.
“Drink?”
She took it carefully and gave the liquid a long sniff. It wasn’t wine, as she’d been hoping, but it didn’t smell like beer or whisky either. “What is this?”
“Mead,” Arran replied. “The finest in the Isles. We get it from Holy Island. The monks there make the best mead in all the known lands.”
“Holy Island?”
“Lindisfarne. In Northumbria.”
“Oh.” Jenna hesitantly took a sip. The drink was sweet and, much to her surprise, rather pleasant. She took a big gulp, enjoying the warm feeling of it sliding down her throat and settling into her stomach. “You know what? That’s not half bad.”
The big, hook-nosed man whom she’d met earlier—Mal, was it?—who was seated to Arran’s right, gave a hearty laugh and winked at Arran. “I think the lass is going to fit right in!” He raised his cup to Jenna in salute. “Drink to yer heart’s content, lass. There’s plenty more where that came from!”
Mal’s warm welcome settled her nerves a little. She grinned and raised her goblet in a toast, then downed the rest of the mead. Almost instantaneously, a servant refilled it.
“Is yer room to yer liking, my lady?” Lady Rosaline asked from Jenna’s other side. “If not, I’m sure we can arrange—”
“Are you kidding? My room is amazing! Seriously, it would give any swanky hotel a run for its money. And it’s Jenna, remember, not ‘my lady’.”
Rosaline smiled. “I’m pleased to hear it, my lady… um… Jenna. We wish yer stay with us to be as comfortable as possible. It’s the least we can do to repay what ye are doing for us.”
Jenna nodded, although Rosaline’s gratitude made her a little uneasy.
She wasn’t sure she deserved it. After all, she’d only come here because she was getting paid.
She looked out at the sea of people filling the tables.
Most had gone back to their conversations and the musician had begun playing again, but even so, she noticed plenty of covert glances aimed in her direction.
Each time, she spotted the same look in their eyes as Rosaline had.
It wasn’t nervousness she realized suddenly. It was… gratitude. And hope.
Oh hell, she thought. These people expect me to save them. What if I can’t?
She hadn’t used her powers in years. What if she’d come all this way only to let them down?
Her thoughts were interrupted by the serving lad bringing her a platter, which he placed on the table in front of her. The platter was piled high with roasted meats, vegetables in various sauces, and a big pile of some kind of flat bread. Jenna stared. She was supposed to eat all this?
“Er… thanks,” she murmured to the serving boy.
He flushed scarlet, gave a sketchy bow, and fled.
Jenna looked around for some cutlery but didn’t see any. “Um. Is there a knife and fork?”
“Here.” Arran reached to his waist and pulled his belt-knife, handing it to her handle-first.