Chapter Nine
For Veronica, the next two weeks were filled
with mindfulness, meditation, Gaelic lessons, sleeping, eating,
drinking, and exercising her martial arts skills. She was familiar
with several forms of martial arts, but was a master in Kalari—one
of the oldest, most ancient forms of battlefield warfare still in
existence. Kalari, or Kalaripayattu, heralded from 600 B.C. in the
matriarchal Indian province of Kerala. She had been trained under a
female master in Los Angeles until she herself had become one. She
wondered what fate had befallen Master Anjali; she didn’t know if
it was kinder to wish that she’d died before the dead began
reanimating or kinder to hope she was still out there, a survivor
of Armageddon.
She glanced at the laptop screen as she
practiced her weapons training that was part and parcel of Kalari.
Still no Victor. She wondered what was keeping him away from his AI
scanner. He was always near the thing. Without Victor being on his
scanner, the laptop did her precious little good.
Speaking of the laptop, every once in a
while the giant warlord she now understood to be Laird Gunn would
make an appearance on her screen. He would stare at her, unsmiling
and unspeaking, as if trying to work her out in his mind. She
supposed she did qualify as something of an anomaly to a warlord in
1155 A.D. She likely had little in common with the women of his
world—a fact she tried not to think too much on.
The laird seemed most fascinated by her
Kalari exercises and training. She found herself performing aerial
moves and gymnastic displays to purposely intrigue him. Such feats
were awe-inspiring spectacles in her time so she could only imagine
what he thought of them in his. Kalari was simultaneously beautiful
and deadly. She knew it made for a stylistic display.
Veronica had decided early on that the shows
were for her benefit as much as his. She wanted Laird Gunn to
realize Kalari was a part of her that was going nowhere—ever. She
wouldn’t be giving it up just because circumstances dictated that
she must leave this world for another one. Hopefully watching her
now would make him realize later that her training was a big part
of who she was. It maintained her both mentally and physically.
The Gaelic lessons were coming along better
than Veronica had expected. Truthfully, the virtual downloads of
the archaic language which Victor had left on the boat for her were
doing most of the heavy-lifting. They worked best if you activated
them at night while sleeping. Her brother told her the brain
absorbs information whether awake or asleep. He’d attempted to
explain why the technology worked best during slumber, but she’d
quickly grown bored and Victor, knowing her “spare me” look better
than anyone, had changed the subject.
“Hi.”
Her mind otherwise occupied with practicing
advanced Kalari techniques, Veronica paid the accented voice little
attention. “Hi,” she said back without looking at the screen.
“I am Lachlan,” he continued in English.
Lachlan. She knew that name. But
why?
“Laird Lachlan Gunn,” the voice
clarified.
Veronica stilled. She released herself from
the warrior pose she’d been holding and slowly turned to face the
screen. It was him. The giant. Her breathing hitched at the sight
of him, though she wasn’t certain why. Her amber curls were in a
ponytail, yet felt too heavy for her head. She absently threw the
ponytail behind her back as she took in the sight of the
warlord.
Her first impression of him had been spot
on. He was breathtaking in his own ruggedly masculine way. Tall,
broad, heavily muscled, dark hair and eyes. Eyes that seemed to be
soaking in her image even more intently than she was taking in his
presence. She’d heard him speak before, but never to her and never
in English. His voice was deep in timbre and just as primally male
as the rest of him. She swallowed a bit roughly. Men just weren’t
made like that in 2075 A.D. Steroids had been banned long ago and
she hadn’t realized it was possible for a man to get that big
without them. She cleared her throat.
“Hello,” she quietly offered in unsteady,
ancient Gaelic. “My name is Veronica.”
He didn’t smile, but his gaze softened at
her first true attempt to speak his tongue. “’Tis a pleasure, Lady
Veronica,” he answered her back in Gaelic. “You are learning my
language I see.”
Lady? She’d think on that later. “I’m
trying.”
“’Tis a boon, that.”
Her forehead furrowed.
“A help,” he slowly explained in Gaelic, “or
a gift.”
She slowly nodded her understanding. Her
heart was fluttering and she didn’t know why. Her reaction to
talking to him made no sense.
They stood there, him on one side of time
and space and her on the other, looking each other over. It was
unnerving and exciting all at once. Truthfully, it was the first
time since the pandemic that she’d been able to lower her guard, if
even just a bit, around another human. She was at sea, no eaters
were around, and this was only virtual. She didn’t have to worry
that he was there to rob her, rape her, or cannibalize her. She
was, for the first time in years, just an ordinary woman facing an
ordinary man. Not that anything about the laird could be thought of
as commonplace. Realizing she was staring, she glanced away and
shook her head a bit to clear it.
“I prefer when you look upon me.”
Her head snapped up. She was better at
understanding Gaelic than previously thought. “I’m sorry,” she
whispered, assuming he just preferred eye contact. Usually she did
as well. Still, she didn’t know what else to say. “How are
you?”
“Well. I am well. How goes your journey to
Scotland?”
“I have no complaints. The sea has been…”
She searched her brain for the right Gaelic word. “…Calm,” she
decided on.
“’Tis a boon, that.”
“True. The calmer the water, the faster I
get to the Highlands.”
The relief that flooded through her made her
feel like crying—something she wasn’t prone towards doing. It took
such a weight off her shoulders to have a normal conversation
without any of the worries the DR-71 virus had introduced into
daily survival. In her world, any interactions with uninfected
humans was akin to putting her existence on the line. Maybe life in
the Middle Ages wouldn’t be so bad after all. At least she’d grow
accustomed to not sleeping with one eye open again. She hoped.
“What ails you?”
The question threw her off guard. She hadn’t
shed a single tear, yet somehow the giant barbarian knew she was
experiencing inner turmoil. “I—” She chose her words carefully.
“—It’s just nice to have a normal conversation with you.”
He nodded. “I enjoy speaking with you as
well.”
She found herself blushing—another thing
Veronica never did. Good grief, what was wrong with her? She was
behaving like an adolescent girl around a male teacher she’d been
crushing on rather than the jaded twenty-nine-year-old that she
was. “Where’s my brother?” she asked, wanting to change the
conversation to a safe topic. And one that made sense to her. “Is
Victor around you?”
“Nay. He is in his bedchamber.”
It took her a protracted moment to
understand his words, but eventually they sunk in. “He has his own
room in your house—I mean castle?”
“Aye. He does.”
She semi-smiled. At least she now knew she
had a room to sleep in when she got there. Assuming this time
travel thing worked twice, she could share a room with her brother.
“Good.” She inclined her head. “Then I will have a place to sleep
in your, uh…” Again, she searched for the right word. “…Keep?”
“Aye.” His gravelly voice deepened and held
a note of…she didn’t know what. “You will be well cared for here,
Lady Veronica. You will be safe, protected, and have a comfortable
place to lay your head.”
She assumed that meant she’d either be
bunking with Victor or getting her own room. The thought cheered
her, made a soft smile form on her lips. “You are kind and
generous.”
He grunted. Her smile faltered.
“Did I say something wrong?” she asked.
“That depends.”
“On what?”
“On whether ‘kind’ and ‘generous’ are
pleasing attributes for a laird in your world.”
She blinked. Were they not pleasing
attributes in the Middle Ages? Was he supposed to be hard and
merciless at all times? “Of course,” she drawled out. “Don’t you
find kind and generous people pleasant to be around?”
“For a wench, aye. ‘Tis not how I would go
aboot describing a warrior, much less a warlord.”
“I meant no insult,” she quickly assured
him.
His eyes seemed to smile. Veronica wondered
if he ever smiled fully, lips and all. “Well,” she both admitted
and quipped, “thank you for teaching me how to insult men who
displease me in your time.”
His lips curved wryly. Her heartbeat sped
up. It wasn’t a full smile, but she’d take it.
“You are most welcome,” he said, his
expression bemused. “I will try not to displease you.”
She half laughed and half snorted. “You’re
doing a good job so far.”
They stood in silence. His dark gaze raked
over her body, seared it. She’d never felt so self-conscious in her
life. She wanted to continue their conversation, but didn’t know
what else to say. Just like with every other social nicety in her
time, she was very out of practice.
“I-I should go for now,” Veronica hedged.
Luckily, she was as quick on her feet mentally as she was
physically because this man was sucking the thoughts straight out
of her brain. “It’s dinnertime and I’m hungry.”
He slowly nodded. “We will speak again verra
soon.” It was a command, not a question.
“We will.” It was a promise, though she had
no idea why she’d made it.
“Safe travels and good day, Lady
Veronica.”
After dinner in the shower, Veronica
wondered if the laird was still watching her. She doubted it. Why
would he continue watching someone he was no longer speaking with
two hours after their conversation had ended? Certainly he had
laird things to do, whatever that amounted to. Nevertheless, the